Night had fallen
And in the swamp
The cunning fox began to creep and sneak,
Light on paws, alerted ears,
His way to where the chickens sleep,
For well he knew
Therein was food
And instinct told him that he should
Beware the farmer's roving eye,
Less he should fail
And victory's cry not be his tonight.
Softly, softly, ever softly,
Cunningly he crept
Until he was before the house
Wherein the chickens slept.
A hole-inside-the kill-and out,
Away into the swamp,
He panted, watched the young ones fill,
Lay down to rest and romp.