In the old games,
the games that wealthy landowners
played in the woods
our kind was run to ground.

We were chased,
the terrified and cornered
until we had nowhere left to run,
even the trees provided no safety,
and the houses of worship
no refuge.

And you might think
that I've given up.
You might even think
that I've left you in the cold,
and maybe you'd say
that "sensible people"
and their sensible solutions
have won the day.

But how soon we forget
that foxes are meant to run,
meant to scurry and dodge.
And how soon we forget
it is dogs
With their bared fangs
and sharpened claws
that hunt them.

And while we might seem cornered,
and while we might appear hopeless,
And while life may have given us
a hand that seems unfair,
we'll run.
As far as we can,
as fast as we can,
until we outpace
the dogs and their masters.