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Biography is either masked ball or epitaph. As you find me, so we are.

Thursday, 13 February 2014


Reynard the Curious explores,
He sniffs his path through forest floors,
As bees inside their dactyl glove
Proboscis-probe for honey love.

His hungry nose leads to a bower,
Hung with tubed, scented, purple flower.
A black and feathered thing he spies;
A Crow! And Lo! She holds a prize…

With sweetened tongue the Fox doth speak,
To feasting Crow, with laden beak.
Thus flattered, she lets out a caw -
Her bounty falls to forest floor.

The Crow thinks; I’m a foolish bird,
I’ve been undone by fawning word -
But all’s not lost. Now let me think.
This clever Fox must need a drink.

“Before you dine, Fox, tell me first,
How you intend to quench your thirst?
The river’s dry. The puddles? Bare.
But see that pitcher over there…”

“It’s true, I’m parched. There is no doubt.
But, how to get that water out?”
“Fox, you speak well, but I am smart.
I have a way. Such is my art.”

Says Crow, “I’ll show. And we’ll imbibe.
Just share your meal. This is my bribe.”
“Why Crow, it really does appear,
You scheme like me. Let’s team, my dear.”

And so the Crow doth pebbles drop,
‘Til water reaches pitcher top.
Hence, Corvid-Vulpes bond is made
Forever, in that forest glade.

So, comes the moral of our tale;
If by some flatterer you fail,
Then turn the tables on their tongue
By being more than words have won.

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