“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.”


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