by sugarcoatedprincess

Under the light,
The colour of its skin,
The fox sauntered free,
With a down and out grin,
A gifted companion,
Trust it not once,
For if you give eight,
You’ll gain no response.

A business type,
Professional of sorts,
Keeper of a run,
Watch it work, mind contorts,
As devouring its friends,
Comes natural,
Simple to its brain,
Simply factual.

So if ever,
You suffer to meet such,
A character of fox,
Watch your chickens close much,
But do remind your thoughts,
There are others,
Not all are as this,
One taints not brothers.