In the quiet woods where shadows play,
A fox steps lightly in the nightâs embrace,
With eyes aglow and fur of flame,
It moves with grace, a fleeting trace.
Beneath the silver moonâs soft glow,
The foxes gather, tales to weave,
Their whispers carry through the trees,
In a world where dreams believe.
Silent paws on leaves that rustle,
A dance of shadows under stars,
They speak in silence, wisdom old,
In the stillness, they leave no scars.
As dawn approaches, the dance concludes,
The foxes fade with morning light,
Yet in the heart of the waking wood,
Their spirit lingers, out of sight.