THE NIGHT VISITOR
A cold Winters night,
Deserted and quiet,
With frost, lying white
On the ground,
Just a bright shaft of light,
Shed by the moon,
All was deserted,
No movement or sound,
The stillness was hushed,
As if by an audience
Awaiting a play to begin,
When a sound pierced the night,
A sharp, eerie cry,
Then another, yet closer again,
I stood, bated breath,
Unobserved in the dark,
Sparkling frost held a Winters delight,
With excited expectancy
Eyes open wide,
Would she come
In the quietness of night?
Then suddenly,
Into the light she appeared,
Like an actor
Who'd awaited her cue,
No audience
More appreciative than I,
As she stealthily trod into view,
Her tail held out straight,
Nose sniffing the air
For the scent of some food, or maybe
She lingered awhile,
In the light of the moon,
The fox, with her audience,
Just me!
~~~
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