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Poem

The Dog and Fox at Play

Every morning, the dog and the fox pup

Played in the garden without a sound,

Damp and delighted in the knee-high grass,

Chasing each other round and round.

After the divorce, the dog and people went away,

Furniture was packed and the house was sold.

There in November, I saw the adult fox

Check bins for scraps in a moderate cold.

Joy, life and warmth are merely accidental

In a world a sere God made for reasons of His own.

Echoes sometimes reach Him of the hound and fox pup playing

Like the skipping in a wide lake of a stone.