And, Too, the Fox by Ada Limon

 AND, TOO, THE FOX

Comes with its streak of red flashing across the lawn, squirrel bound and bouncing almost as if it were effortless to hunt, food being an afterthought or just a little boring. He doesn't say a word. Just uses those four black feet to silently go about his work, which doesn't seem like work at all but play. Fox lives on the edges, pieces together a living out of leftovers and lazy rodents too slow for the telephone pole. He takes only what he needs and lives a life that some might call small, has a few friends, likes the grass when it's soft and green, never cares how long you watch, never cares what you need when you're watching, never cares what you do once he is gone.

AND, TOO, THE FOX Comes with its streak of red flashing across the lawn, squirrel bound and bouncing almost as if it were effortless to hunt, food being an afterthought or just a little boring. He doesn't say a word. Just uses those four black feet to silently go about his work, which doesn't seem like work at all but play. Fox lives on the edges, pieces together a living out of leftovers and lazy rodents too slow for the telephone pole. He takes only what he needs and lives a life that some might call small, has a few friends, likes the grass when it's soft and green, never cares how long you watch, never cares what you need when you're watching, never cares what you do once he is gone.