He Who Shot The Great White Fox


Fall was slowly dying, as winter made his way.

His entrance was quite bitter, and so was his long stay.

But he had other friends that stayed near within sight,

and so they came to greet him with astonishing delight.

When all of winter’s creatures came out to laugh and play,

he let them hide under his white cape that would quickly melt away.

But there was just one creature that loved winter the most,

and when the others saw him, they looked as though they’ve seen a ghost.

T’was The Great White Fox, the most magnificent of all.

He blinked his caramel chartreuse eyes and held his head up tall.

Oh for he was beautiful, and when he pranced on top of snow, he danced the waltz up high and low.

His majesty a river.

But not a sound came from his voice.

His  tranquility made the trees all sing,

his beauty gave winter no choice.

A white dove came on falling down, enveloped in her white lacy gown.

She closed her sweet bright turquoise eyes, and fell asleep.

Never to rise.

The Great White Fox so shocked, so worried, ran up to the dove in a steady hurry.

He gazed down at her stained white gown, and saw a scarlet mark.

He ran his paw across the velvet until the cascade stopped.

A boy pulled out a piece of death that lay within his pocket.

A bullet, no more than a morsel, and shot it from it’s socket.

It pierced  right through The Great White Fox; spilling fresh warm wax,

But not a scream came from his voice, but not a scream would last.

And the boy did not know of what he had just done.

So he vanished in a whisper, only to be on the run.

Guilt, remorse, and detestation teemed within his core.

In not a million miles of quietus, in not a million miles of war, could he take back of what he bore.

“Forgive me” said the boy. The words so frail yet strong.

And that was when he realized what he ever did so wrong.

And there he lay, The Great White Fox

Frozen by his friend.

Cradled by winter’s white cape

until the very end.


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