Deep in thicket
In the dark of the wood
Next to a oak
That has long withstood,
Sits an old fox,
Tail bushy and red
With scars suggesting
He should have long been dead.
Talk to the Fox,
He answers one question each,
In hopes that wisdom
He will pass and teach.
Why do we die?
She was first to ask.
The Fox cocked his head,
For this was no easy task.
We pass on, for this is not our home.
Why linger in the darkness of a tomb?
We were made to be many things,
Child, you see,
But comfortable is not one of them.
For against our very nature,
To stay and simply be.
Why then care at all?
The boy said.
He was smaller with brown eyes,
A hair of dark red.
The Fox smiled
A kind toothy grin.
I think that is an answer,
That you find within.
Evening Poems: Wisdom In The Thicket
By the Brooke 