I see you, sly trickster,
sliding across the snowy hill.
You stop and stare at me, insolent,
sure of yourself while I
stand still in surprise, and
envy at your grace and speed.
Will you be visiting my farm tonight
in search of a warm chicken dinner
on the hoof, fast food cooped up
for your convenience?
Will I hear your nightsong
echo in the darkclad hills?
You run off, low to ground
without looking back even once
to see if I'm still watching.
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