The Fox Who Didn't Stop

The fox was in the field, I could only see its tail
I sat on a rock, fingers braced and cheeks pale
It began to move, to creep through the grass
Did it come to me or did it mean to pass?

First I waited, pulse tired and contracting
Watching the tail with my eyes exacting
Then it stopped, stopped and raised its head
It looked at me, and I would that I'd said:

"This field, you know, it belongs to me too
Don't think that I'm just waiting here for you!"
But instead, my hopefull eyes just sat gleaming
He shook his head, rife with dire meaning

"You shouldn't wait, I'm not here for you
The words I speak now, they were already true"