The Fox

Wary lies the fox's bairn,
In chill of night with much to heed.
When winds do blow and food is sparse,
He cries to all of his cunning breed.
And day by day his limbs grow strong,
His wits will sharpen each new dawn,
And when the summer is at its height,
This is when he's truly born,
To roam the hills of his domain,
The lord of plenty, swift to rule,
And stealth will forge his armoury,
With wiles as his working tools.
So as the bracken wears hues of life,
And children of the forest play,
The king will feast as he may choose
A banquet for each golden day.