The vixen is calling in the pale moonlight
Her wild cries echo in the still of the night
Perhaps she's in heat and calling for a mate
For to become pregnant she needs to copulate
Yet to her calls I cannot hear a reply
Perhaps there is not any male fox nearby
But tonight she'll keep travelling and calling until she does find
A male willing to mate with her of her own kind,
A distinctive wildness in a fox's cry
And of their skills of survival none them can deny
To rid the World of them humans their best do try
But the word extinct to foxes will never apply
The cry of a vixen in the night air I hear
She calls for a mate though no male fox seems near.