Like child being raped the fox it shrieked
As though its pelt were pelted through the dark.
And fur on fir where spine contorted peaked
The fragrant fibres bristled ‘gainst the bark.
The shriek repeats, resounds, surrounds this freak
Of nature, brittle flesh this hooked staff breaks
And rips retracting raw and flapping weak
Torn canvas shreds of pleasure God forsakes
A stone through paper wet whose fellows, flint
That, wrapped round sticks and shafts with flimsy bind
A gleam in gloom, begat of earthy mint
The finest forge-work born of whimsy mind
Angelic rapeling in the dark I thought
But merely fox in grandeur right distraught.