The Vixen

For A. M Remizov

Riveted in place on her shattered paw She had curled near to her den. A thin trickle of blood in the snow Framed her face's pain. The shot and bristly smoke remained In her eyes from its burst from the fen. From the scrubby bushes like wind Pellets had scattered and flown. Haze was swirling above her like bile, The wet wind was clammy and red. She lifted her shuddering head for awhile And her tongue lapped the stiff wound. Her yellow tail sank in the snow like fire, On her lips, sweetness - like a carrot... She smelled the scent of frost and mire, From her shut eyes blood seeped.