In the heart of the forest, where the shadows play,
Beneath the silver moon, where dreams softly sway,
A fox moves with grace, in the stillness of night,
Its eyes gleam with wisdom, a beacon of light.

Through the whispering trees, it silently roams,
A spirit of the wild, far from human homes,
Its fur, a blend of autumn’s golden hue,
A fleeting glimpse of magic, too wondrous and true.

In the depths of the dusk, where secrets reside,
The fox dances lightly, with nothing to hide,
Each step a soft echo, in the quiet air,
An ethereal presence, so rare and so fair.

As dawn breaks gently, painting skies with dawn’s hues,
The fox fades away, like the morning dew’s clues,
Leaving behind whispers of its nightly grace,
A silent shadow, in nature’s embrace.