Hardly ever see him,

Running through the darkness,

A comet streaking through the night.


When you do see him,

Just a streak of red.

Rarely comes out,

When you not in bed.


Sleeping in a little den,

With little cubs to feed,

Chickens, birds and rodents,

The sly hunter of the night.


A beautiful shade of auburn,

A white tip on his tail,

Pointed alert ears,

He is the Fox.


Cáit Nic Dhomhnaill, Scoil Raifteirí.