O look at the dance of foxes with fleas!
When once you find your slipped grip free
your hands spin 'round and grasp for me.
What antics frantic, fraught with fear
cause you to fling and call, my dear?
Are icy claws found in your nails?
Are melting hands why you lost your male?
Yet you find your smile in mine
and speak as once feined and pined.
Now again alone ground and free,
your sites are set, your purchase me.
Is this what wrought in youth and glee
you seek so soon after your bite and seethe?
Yet the twisted smile draws me near,
but do not think I am crystalline clear
and easily smitten and swooning in kind.
But at least for now, in dancing and scratching
in singing in fleeting, I do not mind.
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