Deep in the ferns they are creeping, their sweeping
tails setting swaying the ferns as they crawl,
little red foxes, an army of redcoats,
elegant-eared and cunningly small,
like rubies half-hid by a billowing shawl.
Deep in the ferns underneath the green forest,
on slender white ankles, with button-black eyes,
they swarm, and we catch just a glimpse in the half-light,
and hear through the thicket the witty wild cries
of those delicate, flashing, sanguineous spies.