Trish Gibbs-Leake
Foxes

Every night they come
Skirling and shieling
Up and down the road
In the darkness.
I got up to see them last night
Heads low, tails spread out, fluffed up
Fleet as a feather
And twice as light,
Jumping from dustbins
Then racing to get home
Before morning.
If only I could skirl and shiel
Up the road
At twenty past three.