The Fox

The Fox

© 1989 Lorne Laliberte

A terrible noise this morn did wake
The farmer from his dreamy state,
To find that, rising with the morn
Was chaos in its truest form.

For in his chicken coop he spied
A fox had found its way inside,
And busily was chasing 'bout
The chickens, trying to herd them out
The hole he'd dug under the gate,
This morning or sometime of late.

The farmer, fearing for the worst,
Ran to the door, and loudly cursed:
"Thieving fox, when I am through,
 It will be the end for you!"
He then came out, loading his gun,
Of all his chickens, only one
Remained inside the wire fence
(All the rest had gone long since).

The fox was quite cunning, indeed,
But in his heart there was no greed.
He pushed the last bird through the hole,
And then proclaimed with all his soul:
"My feathered friends, you are now free,
 To live your life as it should be,
 Outside the jails that man does make
 For animals he cares to take
 Without requesting their consent,
 Or recognizing their dissent!"

But the farmer did not hear
These sounds unsuited to his ear,
And shot the fox, but did not see,
How much the fox was freer than he.