“Fate of the Vulpe”
The icy flakes fall
Onto the slumbered furry head.
Four toes, four claws lay in the dented snow.
Cunning, devious, and ready.
Steady, patient, and hungry.
Beneath the towering zebra trees.
Its atrocious grin reveals its carnassial pairs.
Drooling, there is no animosity,
Only the gruelling demand for sustenance.
There is no forgiveness or second chance,
Only the bitterness of the chill if he is to fail.
As his prey treads the frost he makes ready.
More silent than the fall of the frosty flakes.
As deadly as a viper.
Would he fail?
Would he lay in the snow until hunger overcame him?
But these thoughts do not dwell in his mind.
Every detail has been calculated.
And his time is nigh.