Deep in the evergreen forest, 

In the thick of September,

Lived a fox and its prey,

Running through the leaves of ember.

The prey would run,

The fox would pursue,

Up the oak tree the prey climbed,

The fox always seemed to lose.

Every year the chase occurred,

Until one day rolling wheels arrived,

Soon the trees, like the leaves, fell,

Yet their simple exchange still survived.

The native chirping birds then flocked,

Far from the empty lands,

Their songs replaced by the grinding of metal,

Once their home, now in new hands.

Time passed,

And the new trees rose once more,

branches no longer hung,

But the fox came back to even the score.

Wires would hang from tree to tree,

Across each the prey would pass,

It didn’t feel quite like home,

The ground was not the familiar grass. 

By Autumn the fox came back,

To find the prey.

the new ground hurt its feet.

It missed the soft earth, not the firm concrete.

Now, the fox was being chased,

And its prey tried to show it to climb

but it was too late.

The old foe had been taken far from there,

The two no longer could chase in the autumn air.