“I know that I am full of sin,
But, oh, my sisters, let me in!”
The fox moaned at the hen house door
Where he had prowled for years before.
“It was my nature, I admit.
I do not flatter me a bit
To say my life was one long stumble,
But look! I’ve changed and now I’m humble
And vegan, too: my stews I thicken
With spuds and carrots, not with chicken!”
The rooster, though, was not convinced.
“You say your sins have all been rinsed,
But saying is what foxes do
Before they take a bite of you.
You must believe we’re very dense
If we don’t ask for evidence!”
“Well, first, folks, I have had a dream—
It’s hatching, still, but it’s a scheme
Which satisfies my lifelong yen
To make our poultry great again.”
“That’s good,” the rooster said, “but fails
To move me much—you have details?”
“Details are coming…and…they’re great—“
“Then, meantime, you’ll just have to wait.”
“But he’s so macho!” some hens said,
“and has a plan, old cock, instead
Of blocking things—that’s so like you!—
With all your cock-a-doodle doo!
You’re old news—let him in!” Aghast,
The rooster had to let him past,
Because it seemed the general will,
Yet said, “You’ve haven’t answered still
About your plans—are they rehearsed?
If so, please tell me: what comes first?”
But fox, bemused by all that plump
Henflesh, felt resolution slump
And his conversion slip: once more
He was the cagey carnivore.
“My plans?” he said. “Oh, I’ve a ton—
But start with just one simple one.
Because you bowed and let me past,
My friend, I’m going to eat you last.”