The Fox of the Frozen North
From the cold, silent forests below winter's pale serene,
Came a creature of white beauty along the snowy scene;
With eyes of dark amber and a nose of obsidian grand,
Rarely had such a handsome beast blessed this frigid land.
He wandered quietly across the snow-covered fields,
Where the vast, frosty ground lays bare and ice never yields;
With every soft step, the fox moved freely without a care,
Leaving nothing but fragile paw prints that lead to nowhere.
The arctic winds from the brumal sky whispered in his ears,
Of ancient times and archaic rhymes from long, forgotten years;
And yet these haunting tales did very little to address,
Feelings of isolation amongst the wintry loneliness.
The cool air gave no comfort as the fox traversed the ground,
Sensing naught but the chilling breeze that wisped all around;
This arcane, frostbitten landscape was what he called home,
A desolate place of solitude with endless miles to roam.
But all was not lost within the great expanse of white,
As snowflakes silently fell from their firmamental flight;
For this was the fox's domain, the place of his birth,
Where he could venture the very land for all it's worth.
The vulpine frolicked in the snow, filled with newfound joy,
No longer did he walk with sadness, gripped by misery's ploy;
Thus, with determination, the creature traveled forth,
For he was a wondrous beast, a fox of the frozen north.