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Saturday, June 25, 2011

To Say To A Fox

When fox-red suns
Burn low in the south,
The cold fox turns
To famine and death;
But leave by his house
Four rats, three birds,
Two hares and a mouse
And these warm words:

Fox run round
And favor my ground;
Eat from my hand,
Fatten my land


Who feeds a fox
Should suffer no loss.

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