Trapping a Fox

A starving fox limping through the trees,
the rushing water mingles with the sound of buzzing bees,
up ahead the smell of nourishment carried with the breeze begging please,
calling forward the fox with the greatest of ease.
Slower now walks the fox than he would have before,
he knows what he needs but fears what's in store,
his paw still sore reminds him of what he swore.
He would not run into traps, he would be hurt no more.
But the sweet scent of promise still lingers in the air,
a zephyr-brought contact high alleviates his care.
How does he compare the pain in his paw to the one he must
bare for being the incomplete half of a matching pair.
Gingerly he approaches and sees the trap set. He licks his maimed paw,
wondering if this Russian roulette end up a regret.
There's only one way to find out;
with another paw on the line, the fox places his bet.

Testing the Waters

My feet in the ocean test its waters,
her current pulling me in.
I want to dive in completely,
but am I strong enough to swim?
The tides move back and forth,
creating hesitation.
Awkwardly I stand ankle deep,
awaiting her invitation.
Her eyes reflect the water,
shifting from green to blue.
They show the depth of who she is,
each wave brings something new.
Not to conquer but be accepted
by the sea and all her power.
I'd spend all my life swimming,
every minute of every hour.
I ask: Am I strong enough to swim,
but does it really matter?
If I drown within her seas,
at least I'll know I had her.