You look so young,
you are so young.
Singing your song,
a fragile bird,
crying for food
alfot in your nest.
Until yet only you rest,
no flight have your
wings produced.
And all the while
mother feeds you
worms.
Hunger yearns,
for I the fox -
the devious enchanter -
invites you to fly.
Let's wait a while,
fatten your naivety.
Then introducing gravity.
A tastier meal you
will be.
And the chase,
What a chase!
You are supper.
