The Small, Red Fox

There's a small, red fox near the side of the road,
 with burnished face and doleful eye.

She frolics in the tall, green grass and
Eyes a circling hawk in the pale blue sky

She drinks the dew from the passion fruit vines
And takes her fill of the muscadine rinds,

Her kits are there, at least three or four.
They run and play near the garden door.

She tilts an ear when the farmer calls.
And they scurry off, along the old stone wall.