A Poem Not on the Foxes Passing Through my Yard Late in the Evening, not Exactly!

Like us living here, the foxes, in their rambling,

their lone roaming, solitary roving about,

are seeking what they need to survive, to get by,

things lacking these lean years of drought and unkindness,

a lack of space, their space, our space, dwindling, a lack

of kith and kind, socially distant, dying off, divided, a lack

of sustenance, too costly, in short supply, irreplaceable, those things

we need beyond hearth and home to sustain us, lost perchance

by progress regressed, just wandering as we do, as we must,

seeking them out, now, and finding them lacking, still, more,

taking what we can and, perhaps, sadly, calling it enough.