Dancing through the colored leaves,
she sits and waits where none can see.
Her coat of red seems so serene,
a strong yet gentle, beautiful queen.
The hunter takes notice of her lush, red dress.
He gives her chase and attempts to impress.
She smiles and laughs before waltzing away,
not wanting to play his ridiculous game.
He attempts to impose through strength and through height
on the fox draped in red with hair silky white.
She watches, enraged, and raises her claws
to strike down the man who dares unhinge his jaws.
He tries one more time in accusing plea.
With a look of disgust, she turns to leave.
He grabs her arm, says she has no choice.
Her words are steady as she raises her voice:
"You will unhand me, you insolent cur,"
and she tore him away from her delicate fur.
He stands there, baffled, before slinking away,
back to the shadows from whence he came.
You see, many have tried to catch such a fox,
maidens so fair and fiery and tough.
Yet none have succeeded to catch by the scruff
the women who walk on their own through the rough.
YOU ARE READING
Ghostwriter
PoetryLiving with mental illness can oftentimes trap one within the inner maze of their mind. In that place, dreams, fears, wishes, and regrets all compile together to create a new world far from the one we physically exist in. At times, it becomes easy t...
