David Hugh-Jones' blog

"No man but a blockhead ever wrote, except for money." Dr Johnson
 
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Tuesday, November 06, 2007

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.

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