A little gray fox
Had a home in the rocks,
And most of his naps and his leisure took there;
But, one frosty eve,
He decided to leave,
And for a short absence began to prepare.
A letter he wrote;
And he brushed up his coat;
And he shook out his tail, which was plumy and fine:
At first break of day
He galloped away,
At some distant farm-house intending to dine.
How gay he did look,
As he frisked to the brook,
And gazed at himself in the water so clear!
He looked with delight
At the beautiful sight;
For all was so perfect, from tail-tip to ear!
That noon, our gray fox
Called on good Farmer Knox,
Where some of the fattest of poultry was kept,
And, sly as a mouse,
Lay in wait by the house;
Or, peeping and watching, he stealthily crept.
He felt very sure
He should shortly secure
A fat little chicken, or turkey, or goose;
And his eyes were as bright
As the stars are at night,
As he tried to decide which his foxship should choose.

From his sharp-pointed nose
To the tip of his toes,
He was all expectation!—when, suddenly "Snap!"
With a "click" and a "clack;"
And, before he could wink,
This smart little fox was caught fast in a trap.
And now that gray fox
Does not live in the rocks;
And just what his fate was I never have learned:
This only I know,
That, a long time ago,
He left there one morning—and never returned.