Sentimental Sunday: The Prettiest of Ponds

The frightened pheasant flutters
Flying in a burst
Startled by the panting fox
Who came to quench her thirst

The female fox is furrowed
Shorter are her days
Lacking will and drive to hunt
On eggs and fruit she’ll graze

A fearful fish feels furtive
Peering at the shore
His gills grow still and silent
For he’s met a fox before

The frog floats on a flower
Singing strong and proud
From time to time he nabs a bug
From the thick and buzzing cloud

The flies all flit and fumble
Done in by graceless genes
You could say they move swift
Though more akin to a careen

The flourishing fans of ferns
Reach widely with their fronds
They add their rich green hues
To this, the prettiest of ponds

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