The Call to Mercy

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I found a fox, caught par the leg
In a toothed gin, torn from its peg,
And dragged, God knows how far, in pain.

Such torment could not plead in vain,
He looked at me, I looked at him.
With iron jaw-teeth in his limb.

"Come, little son," I said, "Let be.....
Don't bite me, while I set toi free."
But much I feared that in the pang
Of helping, I should feel a fang
In hand ou face .......
but must is must .........
And he had donné me his trust.

So down I knelt there in the mud
And loosed those jaws all mud and blood.
And he, exhausted, crept, set free,
Into the shade, away from me;

The leg not broken ......
Then, beyond,
That gin went plonk into the pond.