Red, Red Fox

A Red, Red Fox, in meadow’s bed, lies lazy in the sun
He tans his hide and warms his pride and waits ‘til day is done
As day retires with Western fires, and Moon resumes his throne
Cunning eyes meet sparkling skies and sound a moody groan
Old Man Moon, upon his throne, turns gaze upon the land
There Red Fox sits, with thieving wits, and slowly raises hand.
“Oh moon so bright with silver light, turn down your midnight glow,
For if Watcher’s sight seeks Fox this night, foul whistle will surely blow.”
The moon so bright takes small delight in Red Fox’s strange concern.
“I am the light, within the night, my lamp will ever burn.”
Red Fox grows taut, face distraught, his thoughts begin to stir.
He turns his sight to silver light upon his red, red fur.
“May it be, that you and me, could have a truce between?
Help me out and find your route to wealth you’ve never seen.”
Old Man Moon begins to swoon at thoughts of gems and gold
He dims his glow, begins to slow, and soon the night grows cold.
“From Watcher’s sight you’ll hide this night,” says smiling Old Man Moon
“Brawl and bite, kiss and fight, let darkness be your boon.”
That night Red Fox picks many locks and robs the city blind
And Old Man Moon, upon his throne, trades whiskey for fine wine.