FHINA AND SAM

 

Fhina and Sam  ..  Maureen Clifford ©  The#ScribblyBarkPoet

 

 

Found in a cave ‘neath a willow’s bent roots,
a child lived with foxes, vermin farmers shoot.
Curled on the fleece of what was a prize lamb
a shepherd who heard his weak cries – named him Sam.

He wrapped the child up in a blanket of wool

and took him away to the town Warrnambool,

then raised him to be the son he never had

taught him his letters and taught good from bad.

 

Sam would remember his old fox lair home

always through life, in the bush he would roam.

Tom who had found him could understand why.

Sam had now become the apple of his eye.

Never to foxes did Sam raise a gun, for

reared as their cub he was their human son.

One vixen always came straight to his call.

One he called Fhina he loved best of all.

 

Fhina had fur flaming red like the sun.

Brush thick as bracken, and brown eyes that shone.

Fhina the fox was a huntress with flair

‘twas Fhina who’d carried Sam into her lair.

Sams hair in sunlight had a reddish sheen,

sometimes those early days seemed like a dream.

Always he held a great affinity

with all animals as anyone could see.

 

Fhina passed on, young Sam found her one day

curled at caves entrance – life had slipped away.

Gently he cradled her in his strong arms.

Buried her deep to keep her safe from harm.

Sam sat for a while staring at sky of blue

wondering now what he really should do.

Thought conservation would answer his call.

Veterinary science would let him help all.

 

 

 

Tom saw the wisdom, he would help the lad

always he’d given the best that he had.

Old now himself and with bones stiff and sore

here was a chance for one man to do more.

Decades have passed and old Tom now has gone.

Lies beside Fhina – placed there by his son.

On land now owned and managed by Sam,

his green paddocks home to the ewe and the lamb.

 

Sam’s known as ‘silver fox ‘– known all around

as a caring young vet who will travel from town 

out to your property, daytime or night.

Animal welfare is strong in his sight.

Sam’s flock has never been threatened by fox,

sometimes at night he sits there on the rocks

by Fhina‘s grave and the grave of old Tom

waiting in moonlight for fox cubs to come.

 

They play contented around old Sam’s feet.

Vixen has rubbed up against him to greet.

Sam has some leftover meat from his tea

and shares it with her beneath the old tree

that now shades the gravesite of Fhina and Tom

filtering sunlight through days hot and long.

There’s an affinity ‘tween fox and Sam

‘twas Fhina who saved him.  Tom made him a man