There was a duck upon the fen,
eyed by a fox in the glen.
Dusk came, the time was then,
but the duck’s alerted by a wren.
The hungry fox returned to the den,
the chanced missed for what he does yen.
Morning comes the fox climbs the ben,
from its peak he sees a pen.
In this pen the tasty hen,
not just one but eight or ten.
The time was now, if not then when.
The fox is wise, it’s in their ken.
Though overlooked, the ken of men,
the fox still hungry but gained some Zen.