The sun is fun, when all’s said and done,
but there’s something about that moon.
The vixen hesitates, cautiously sniffing at the exit to her den.
She pokes out her head and listens intently, then slinks out unseen.
She’s on the hunt, her steps quick and light, hesitating, stopping.
She creeps slowly through the grass, creeping up on what she hears.
She suddenly leaps, dispatching her prey with a quick, sharp bite.
She carries her prey home to feed her hungry, yipping young.
Lies like a blanket
Over all of my thoughts