Several years had gone and passed,
With great transitional change,
The Woodland remained a flurry of life,
Of creatures great and small.
And in the deepest corner,
In the shadow of The Mighty Oak,
A remnant of the past.
An icon of The Stoat remained,
A petite epitaph.
Not one small creature questioned,
Nor did the great consider,
The history of this epitaph
Of the poor, defenceless creature.
Consigned completely to the history books,
The Stoat was just a memory.
The Fox, The Wolf, and their descendants
In splendor, and arrogance,
Their past they overlooked.
(C) R Stephens, 2019