by Andrew Moore
The fox sleeps beneath the ground
as a northern wind brings an early snow.
Her dreams are disrupted by hounds.
The bugle blows, she moves to and fro.
Her black eyes watch with careful worry
as a chilled breath expels from her foe.
The pines scatter her scent into the flurry
as four noses nudge the air for the hunted.
Unearthed, she flees her home in a hurry.
The harrowed hounds are stunted,
but pursue her through the pines.
She meets a river with reluctance.
The burrow now sits quite,
untouched and left to time.
A native of South Carolina, Andrew Moore is majoring in Journalism at the University of South Carolina in Columbia. He is also a former Deep South intern, and this is his first published poem.