NaPoWriMo #26: A Fox and a Bulldog

The fox forages on the open field,
eyes turned from the glare of sunlight,
black clouds swirling ahead.

He digs through the furrows,
hoping treasure lies beneath his paws
while rooks shadow him from the hedges.

White tail-tip swishing behind him,
the fox spots something emerging
from the hedgerows, scattering the rooks.

Short and barrel-shaped, lolling tongue,
wide face and button nose,
the bulldog tumbles out of the leaves.

Never has the sharp-nosed fox
seen something so ungainly
as the bewildered beast before him.

As the bulldog approaches, smiling,
the fox appears to cough, then chuckle,
and the rooks watch on from the hedges.

NaPoWriMo #15: Overgrown

In a jungle of a garden,
with a shed constricted by ivy,
a patio draped in moss,
a lawn resembling a green porcupine,

a lost fox makes its den
in what was a compost heap,
much to the dismay
of the resident slow-worm.

He tried to evict his housemate
but his size did not help matters.
To this day no one knows
if he moved out or not.

Still the garden grow,s
still the fox's abode,
till gardeners arrive, tools in hand,
to break the ivy's hold.

Trials of the Fennec

Desert sands hide many things.
The roots of heat-withered grass,
the coils of fierce-eyed vipers
and the prey of the Fennec.

A fox with satellite-dish ears,
its fur the colour of the sands,
a buccaneer of the dunes
on an endless trek.

Anything goes on the Fennec's palate.
Bird eggs, shelled treasure chests,
unwary rodents, luscious carveries,
scorpions, refreshing yet barbed cocktails.

Then there are the Fennec's foes,
the beasts which lurk by day and night.
The devious caracals, the fearsome hyenas,
even the death shadows of owls on the air.

And yet this little fox pressed on,
prowling the crest of the dunes
across the driest of oceans
on to find its bounty and a place to rest.