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Les Yuex du Reynard
There is something about those eyes-
Something in them- of them -
Something unchanging- yet insubstantial-
Unassailable - or perhaps - unattainable.
There is something about his eyes.
They are fair - they always were.
Their hue? Trivially unimportant -
It is not their color- but their content that beguiles.
They are "les yuex du reynard" -
The eyes of the Fox.
There is pain in them- for this Fox has known the hunt.
He knows - all to well - the harrying hounds-
Some psychotic - some bureaucratic-
Baying after him - bugling for his downfall-
Striving to bring him to ground.
There is sadness in them- for he has known the bars of captivity-
The cold steel jaws of forced conformity.
Has felt the punitive touch of the uncaring hand-
Symptoms more important than sympathy-
More a specimen- less a man.
But there is joy there also- though perhaps
Too much of it previous - too little prevalent.
The beauty of wild places - nature as free verse-
The frenzied passions of mating- for Foxes are well known roues.
The mystic transubstantiation of phrase to verse.
And there is - reflecting like the facets within a jewel-
Guilt for past wrongdoing - forgiveness for past wrongs received-
Fear and Faith - timeless opponents - battling still.
And there is guile in them too - for the Fox is clever -
And of all creatures- the most known for his grin.
I could love him for those eyes alone-this Fox.
But it is a delicate matter - one must move slow
And speak low- when seeking to befriend a wild thing.
To accept both the sunlight and the shadow of his nature-
To embrace what is feral - but in so doing - not somehow tame it.
I do not want him - on his back - neck exposed-
Thinking to please me with his willingness to surrender.
It would break my heart to see him so.
And break too - if not his heart- then his spirit -
For Foxes have their pride.
So I will sit quiet for now - and read the stories those eyes tell.
And perhaps even believe one or two of their lies-
For such creatures are Foxes- that it would delight him to fool me.
And perhaps - in the fullness of time - we will know one another well-
The Fox and I.
Something in them- of them -
Something unchanging- yet insubstantial-
Unassailable - or perhaps - unattainable.
There is something about his eyes.
They are fair - they always were.
Their hue? Trivially unimportant -
It is not their color- but their content that beguiles.
They are "les yuex du reynard" -
The eyes of the Fox.
There is pain in them- for this Fox has known the hunt.
He knows - all to well - the harrying hounds-
Some psychotic - some bureaucratic-
Baying after him - bugling for his downfall-
Striving to bring him to ground.
There is sadness in them- for he has known the bars of captivity-
The cold steel jaws of forced conformity.
Has felt the punitive touch of the uncaring hand-
Symptoms more important than sympathy-
More a specimen- less a man.
But there is joy there also- though perhaps
Too much of it previous - too little prevalent.
The beauty of wild places - nature as free verse-
The frenzied passions of mating- for Foxes are well known roues.
The mystic transubstantiation of phrase to verse.
And there is - reflecting like the facets within a jewel-
Guilt for past wrongdoing - forgiveness for past wrongs received-
Fear and Faith - timeless opponents - battling still.
And there is guile in them too - for the Fox is clever -
And of all creatures- the most known for his grin.
I could love him for those eyes alone-this Fox.
But it is a delicate matter - one must move slow
And speak low- when seeking to befriend a wild thing.
To accept both the sunlight and the shadow of his nature-
To embrace what is feral - but in so doing - not somehow tame it.
I do not want him - on his back - neck exposed-
Thinking to please me with his willingness to surrender.
It would break my heart to see him so.
And break too - if not his heart- then his spirit -
For Foxes have their pride.
So I will sit quiet for now - and read the stories those eyes tell.
And perhaps even believe one or two of their lies-
For such creatures are Foxes- that it would delight him to fool me.
And perhaps - in the fullness of time - we will know one another well-
The Fox and I.
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