The Fox Of Hawthorn Glen Poem by Francis Duggan

He creeps out of his earthy den
And ambles down the lonely glen
His black nose cocked to the twilight air
Sniffing here and sniffing there.

This beast of prey with hair orange red
And bushy tail and pointy head
Slowly moves among the heath
In search of prey to kill and eat.

His perceptive nose makes him aware
That nearby sits a mountain hare
Scarcely three hundred yards away
On this creature he will prey.

Through the heath he slowly creep
He hopes to catch the hare asleep
But the hare senses oncoming death
And bounds off through the knee high heath.

The angry fox growls in despair
He'd lost his chance of eating hare
And to his anger gives full vent
In a sad and loud lament.

Disgruntled at his loss of meat
He lay among the soft green heath
The lark's farewell to day was sweet
The day and night began to meet.

A pale full moon it rise on high
And countless stars bedeck the sky
The fox listen with a keen ear
The sounds of barking dogs he hear.

He knows the colour of each dog
From Hawthorn road to Rams hill bog
He can even tell just by the sound
Where each dog lives for miles around.

For some dogs he shows no respect
Of others he is circumspect
And of a few he lives in fear
And their abode dare not go near.

He listened to the hill sheep bleat
As he moved down Inland from the heath
Down to where the lush grass grow
In the green fields lying below.

Herds of cattle he did pass
Some at ease others eating grass
Some would spot him and give chase
He would merely quicken pace

Of cattle he showed no alarm
They could not do him any harm
They were clumsy and far too slow
All these things the fox did know.

Strolled the open Rams hill road
To him in the night air flowed
Strong scent of the human kind
A furzy patch he hid behind.

Two humans and a dog passed by
A mother and her little boy
Followed by their black half bred hound
The fox's heart commenced to pound.

Of this huge dog he lived in fear
He had got a scare from him last year
But that day he had used his brain
In Morgan's field he ran the drain.

Said the mother to her son my dear
A fox must have passed somewhere near
The smell of fox is in the air
And fairly strong I do declare.

The young boy to his mum did say
This fox may take us both away
And to him came the assuring reply
Of the human kind foxes are shy.

The half bred's senses were slow to act
But to his nostrils came the fact
That a fiendish fox was somewhere nigh
He turned back with fiery eye.

He ran towards where the hidden fox lay
And the fox he quickly raced away
Across the field lit by moonlight
The black dog see him in full flight.

The half breed yapped as he gave pursuit
The fox glanced back at the chasing brute
Who was gaining ground in every stride
He had to find some place to hide.

And then the massive yapping cry
Of canine barking filled the sky
The supporting yaps gave the dog more heart
To catch this fox and tear him apart.

And though the dog was decreasing the lead
This fox he was of nimble breed
He still had ninety yards to spare
As they raced through Horan's of Rams hill mare.

The fox's brain it reigned supreme
He altered course towards horan's screen
Which stood three hundred yards ahead
And on towards it he quickly sped.

The dog now twenty yards behind
Was moving faster than the wind
The fox felt happy to reach the screen
Where he could run and not be seen.

Of the dog's attention he was free
And he quickly raced between the trees
Then left the screen and slackened speed
Going through the fields of old Tom Meade.

The huge black dog had ceased to chase
The fox slowed to a walking pace
The cunning fox had kept his cool
He had made the black dog seem a fool.

The dog who had poor sense of scent
Had not a clue where the fox went
Like most other half breed greyhound
He was poor at tracing scent on ground.

And searching was a waste of time
So he left the little screen of pine
His gallant chase had been in vain
He trotted home sick in the brain.

The barking all about had ceased
The fox was resting and felt pleased
In old Tom Meade's fort field he lay
And another half hour passed away.

It was now a quarter past midnight
The valley folk had quenched their lights
While the sleeping valley lay at rest
For prey the fox renewed his quest.

Met a big gray badger clawing
For slugs and worms he was pawing
He thought it was a filthy beast of greed
who would dig the grimy earth for feed.

With his hunt he felt unsatisfied
As he strolled by Rams hill river side
He could hear the sound of water swishing
Two dark otters were busy fishing.

The fox he felt puzzled indeed
These otters were a funny breed
How could they stay so long in river?
The thought of it just made him shiver.

Just watching them gave him a thrill
He marvelled at their swimming skill
He sat there half an hour or so
Watching them swimming to and fro.

But of watching the otters he became bored
And he crossed the river at a ford,
The hunger in him grew and grew
And his search for prey he did renew.

A fox's nose never deceive
The scent of dinner he perceived
It was a rabbit nibbling grass
This chance of meat he could not pass.

The little rabbit's burrow lay
Scarcely twenty yards away
He could not afford to make a sound
Or his hoped for meal would go to ground.

But rabbits have an ear for danger
It's eyes beheld the furtive stranger
And it quickly ran into it's home
Leaving the fox to brood and moan.

The rabbit he hoped to eat had vanished
Leaving him sad and feeling famished
And with his hungry belly crying for food
He felt in a despairing mood.

And a fox will even risk his life
When the hunger in his gut is rife
A hungry fox will even face
To him the most forbidden place.

He slowly crept through Morgan's croft
The fowl shed lay under the loft
He scarcely could believe his eyes
And he almost fainted in surprise.

Old Bill Morgan had gone to bed
And forgot to close the door of the shed
Which gave his fowl shelter at night
The cunning fox grinned with delight.

But an obstacle lay sleeping in his path
And a mighty dangerous one at that
It was Morgan's big brown collie Tim
And he felt very scared of him.

With his pathway to the fowl shed barred
By the sleeping dog in Morgan's yard
The fox cute as a clever man
Devised a most ingenious plan.

To lure the dog he'd use his guile
And from Morgan's house he moved a quarter mile
He was going to draw the collie out
And his magnet it would be his mouth.

The wily fox commenced to howl
The sleeping dog awoke and growled
And with anger in his heart inflame
He ran towards from where the barking came.

The strong wild smell was in the air
But the fox it came from was not there
Whilst the big brown collie nosed the ground
The nimble fox was fowl shed bound.

Came the painful squawk of a dying hen
And he ran back to the yard again
Full of fury and snarling hate
But he reached the fowl shed much too late.

The commotion in the disturbed fowl shed
Roused Morgan and his wife from bed
Disappointment in their hearts it rose
When they found the fowl shed door unclosed.

The angry farmer lost his cool
And cursed his dog and called him fool,
The collie slunk away in shame
When his master put on him the blame.

The happy fox sat eating meat
Bill Morgan's brown hen tasted sweet
In Meade's fort field he eat his fill
And thoroughly enjoyed his kill.

The little larks were on their way
Up towrds the clouds to greet the day
And sweet songs flowed from all the throats
Of Rams hill mare's small feathered poets.

On Morgan's hen the fox had dined
The bones and feathers he left behind
With the hunger lust in him appeased
He felt self satisfied and pleased.

He trotted homewards towards his den
Three miles away in Hawthorn glen
Where he would sleep most of the day
And tonight as usual hunt for prey.