A Fox

There is nothing more despicable than a fox.
A gnarly haired, weasely fox.
It goes from place to place, wandering
Until it finds a nice little grove
Where all the meeker animals are at rest.
There, the animals are at rest,
And frolic on the knolls, will linger
By the human legs which wander nigh.
Then, the fox sees this, with belly growling
And it decides to disturb the years of peace
By picking off the little ones.
Then the meek ones.
Then the plump ones.
Birds, rabbits, squirrels, chipmunks.
All the nice little animals which before,
Like the little chickadee which nearly perched on my sandal
It eats them. 
And the animals, restless, stir from their holes
And no longer linger by the travelers foot.
Never having known danger,
The meek little mild bunnies die
With wounds in their sides,
Half eaten. To be thrown into the garbage can.
And one Fox does this, and when the habitat is disturbed,
And restless, and scared, it is happy
So it moves to the next pleasant forest,
And there, does its murderous spree once again.