The arctic fox was laying low,
With cunning in his eyes,
While just above the ice and snow,
Just waiting in disguise...
A patient creature, yes, indeed,
Yet patience was the key
And with this friend he would succeed,
Sometime, eventually...

His gentle breath belied his heart,
It was as cold as ice,
Starvation tears the soul apart,
From then on, it's not nice...
So hunting prey was his sole aim,
His only chance to live,
And so I ask, is he to blame,
If he, no chance will give?

The arctic fox must bide his time,
While time was on his side,
To contemplate upon his crime,
So many can't abide...
Despite the fact some can't condone,
His dinner keeps him strong,
Since no-one's here, he's quite alone,
Till dinner comes along...

Denis Martindale, copyright, August 2013.

The poem is based on the magnificent painting