Swallow nestles in dank, dense fleecy mess
pecked shreds, specks of flecked dread, like riven chicks coldly rendered dead .
Shredded blood black, now that was once scarlet red.
Not a Fox, but a metaphor for feeling the same old hopelessness. Try to look ahead?
I thought I'd try write something positive.
I guess Swallow isn't ready yet.
by Paul Sinclair