I see the fox in the city,
as he lopes across the road.
The cars do not deter him.
He's certainly cracked their code.

I see the fox in the city.
He lives by parks and bins.
Each year he grows more prosperous still
for all his earthly sins.

I see the fox in the city.
There are no men in red,
no dogs with horses on the street,
just city folk instead.

It’s not the hunt controls him
whatever his frame or mood,
for since he lives by the hunt himself
it’s how he gets his food.

They say he’s full of cruelty,
that for one hen kills them all,
but if we crowd them in the coop
they’re bound to make a squall.

So when he comes creeping in the night
the flock begins to hum,
and he has little choice but stop
such pandemonium.

I see the fox in the city.
He slips away in the grass.
I always hail him as a friend
whenever I see him pass.

But whether we’re for or anti,
life is the only prize,
and we always seem to find ourselves
reflected in his eyes.

Mark Abraham

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