The Circle of Life

The fog of dull moist clouds cloistered Earths hills rolling slowly quietly assured with December’s presence uncovering the steal bleakness of chills the grey fox sought the superlative time stalking hunting, one catch, the hare eating thorns, is captured ~ All rests except the fox, and the hawk that swoops prey and beautiful it seems to carolers that dream pictured on Christmas Cards sleighing coupled in hay but the hunted sigh as the singers pass by ignoring the innocent life in the forest by night really wintery rest is not what it seems ~ The white witch cursed the greens for 3 months laughing, she pointed t’wards the fox and the hare the hawk she invites on her evening animal hunts while the fox, hiding and embarrassingly shares dear rabbit if only there was another way to convey my condolences and my fondness, for you, today ~ The fawn born in grey thicket that night a hunter was on track for a meal, of the carnivores type deep in silence, bitter coldness, that eve less bright their faces showed meanness, sickeningly alarming hungry for killing the innocent and without any lament the damp floors lined with twigs and leaves sent ~ warning there are trespassers entered our forest and without invitation, the hawk soared forewarning the dove in turn echoes cooing which entered space of ears the fox alarming, the furry rabbit crosses into the thicket noosing the doe and the fawn warmed coddling stay within this eve the thicket safe from guns ~ the hunter’s love winter’s and the innocent blood And the white witch carries on until spring stay here little doe while your mother brings the cud the sleet drizzling rains seem never to bring peace within the forest it seems and life circles around the fox and the hare and the buzzards that hunt the carcass from the air ~ ©2016 Bonnie Jennings. All Right's Reserved