There's a fox buried in the garden
I saw him/she/it in the road
Flipped around and grabbed a bag
Lot a flies and torn in half
Was almost repulsed, but still
There's a fox buried in the garden
There's a fox buried in the garden
I hoped a funeral of some sort would bring good Karma
To the tulips, iris, crocus and clover
And the fox spirit would protect this little corner
From any imposing irrational disorders
There's a fox buried in the garden
And I suspect that's true for most of time
Depending on how one would define "a garden"
There's a fox buried in the garden
I wonder, Is it the same fox I saw leaping over that fence, snatching our neighbors' chickens the year prior?
Nevertheless
There's a fox buried in the garden
There's a fox buried in the garden
Is a thought that only comes to mind
Every once a week, or less.
When I'm moving rocks around and wonder why that one has stayed for so long
My mind does the "Ahhhhhhhhh" thing as it remembers- that's a headstone
There's a fox buried in the garden
So the headstone has a stack of peculiarly balanced smaller stones atop,
as a reminder
There's a fox buried in the garden
Rest a while in decompslumber
Maybe I'll happen upon it some year
In that moment when the flesh is eaten away, but the skull remains?
Until then, there's a fox buried in the garden
From this paver is noticed an eagle Asunder
Gliding around in an updraft
likely looking to plunder
A bald one at that and there's no taking it under
No two ways to Sunday
Sunshine doth dwindle
Making me as feel little as
I look up at baldy here speckling in the glare
If I were a fox now would I hide at the sight
Of the apex areal Predator
Would there be shelter here
In this garden
For a fox
Well, if not, im glad to be a two legger
And not the fox
Buried in the garden