Orphans

I had a little fun with that poor mole yesterday, when I wrote my post "Body Found on Trail".  However, writing about that mole and wondering if it was a mother mole with babies in the den, reminded me of a poem I am going to share here.

This is Lew Sarett's poem, "Four Little Foxes".  The season doesn't match our current summertime, but the sentiment does.

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Speak gently, Spring, and make no sudden sound
For in my windy valley yesterday I found
New born foxes squirming on the ground
Speak gently.


Walk softly, March, forbear the bitter blow,
Her feet within a trap, her blood upon the snow,
The four little foxes saw their mother go
Walk softly.


Go lightly, Spring, oh give them no alarm;
When I covered them with boughs to shelter them from harm
The thin blue foxes suckled at my arm
Go Lightly.


Step softly, March, with your rampant hurricane
Nuzzling one another and whimp'ring with pain,
The new little foxes are shiv'ring in the rain
Step softly.


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This is a sad poem, and I don't like the content, but I do admire the way it is written.  In the second stanza, for example, I like the way that the phrase "the bitter blow" could mean, among other things, the deadly cold wind and temperatures, or the actual death of the fox kits themselves.  And throughout the poem, by imploring Spring and March to be gentle and soft, the tenor of the poem matches the way in which the long, straightforward descriptions are cut short by the final beseeching imperative at the end of each stanza, almost most like the author is hushing the entities he is addressing, and the readers as well.