I remember, my Young Fox

Everyone remembers their tale,

but do they remember mine?

I was there long before she came.

I’m not jealous of her.

She isn’t anything I couldn’t be.

I may be hot-headed, but

never jealous.

I’m hurt

with wounds that cut deeper

than skin can go.

I took care of my young fox,

yet he forgot about me so quickly

when she came.

Am I really that forgettable?

I remember my home,

a flourishing forest with

a strong timber in the center.

My friends, always pestering me

for wearing the same olive drabbed dress

to match my messy, untamed bun.

I remember my job there,

finding lost things,

using them to make something new.

I remember meeting him,

a young fox who never dreamt of growing up

and lived in a far away land with his loyal leash.

I remember their excitement

when I shared my grainy powder,

which can make believers glide through the air.

I remember battling alongside my brothers

against the one-handed bandit and his dysfunctional crew.

Who could forget when she came,

a girl who was anything but darling

and my young fox took to her like a bee to honey.

I remember them holding hands,

flying around our home.

Him, looking at her

the way he used to look at me,

ignoring my warnings

because he didn’t remember us.

But I remember.

I remember it all.

Now I lie here,

Getting all too familiar

With this man in black,

Can you tell me

where I can find my young fox?

Where is he now?

Tell me,

does he know that

I’m almost out of fight?

Please, sweet Angel of Death,

let me see my young fox

one more time before

my soul is claimed.