A POEM BY R. STEPHEN
Auburn Vixen navigates the bracken,
budding dauntless mother.
Shielded by her companion,
protector of the fruit.
A black and white crown emerges from the pumpkin-coloured leaves.
A winter coat to bring warmth to this badger in the fading sun.
Our creature retreats to his den as triangle-shaped ears appear in the mist.
With a low flat skull and nose to the ground,
the homestead is unveiled.
Dark vast hallways of dry earth.
A gathering huddle holds its breath before the invaders.
Snarls and groans exchanged in the dark.
Generations have dug and crafted these tunnels.
Tunnels which will not yield to a foreign aggressor.
Our vixen finds solitude among the riot,
crumbling with exhaustion.
Trudging in the dark,
the earth is stained while aggressors look on.
Silver sparks on a midnight canvas,
one guardian shuffles among twigs.
Eyes scanning the bark and reeds.
Two marbles appear in the blackness,
a second protector of this commune.
Red pampas grass retreats to the hole,
the silent badger follows.
Two families regroup.
Only slumber shall occupy this den tonight.
About This Poem
Woodland Concord: A Hope for Peace in a Divided World
I wrote Woodland Concord as a woodland scene, but its roots go deeper than the forest floor. The poem came from a hope that in a divided world we can learn to live alongside one another, respecting differences rather than fearing them. The animals in the poem are not symbols of conflict. They are symbols of coexistence. A vixen, a badger, a fox, a guardian in the reeds. Each creature moves through the same space with its own instincts, its own fears, its own claim to the land, yet the poem ends with unity rather than victory.
The early stanzas follow the vixen and her companion, protective and dauntless. Then the badger emerges, warm in his winter coat, retreating to his den as another presence arrives. The poem leans into tension, into the dark hallways of earth, into the snarls exchanged in the shadows. Generations have dug these tunnels. They will not yield easily. Yet the poem does not stay in conflict. It moves toward exhaustion, toward quiet, toward the guardians who watch over the commune, toward the moment where two families choose rest instead of rivalry.
The final image is simple. Red pampas grass retreats. The silent badger follows. Two families regroup. Only slumber occupies the den. That is the heart of the poem. A reminder that even in places shaped by instinct and survival, peace is possible. Concord is possible. We can share the same ground.
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