The Den

The foxes' refuge where the babies were raised,
thro' their parent's arms and legs they gazed;
I peered thro' a window and then saw the den door,
where the jewellery business had been done before.

I'd been in a 'triangle,' but on the losing end,
I didn't mind, who's to know how love will transcend,
fancy house, terrace on the roof with a sea view,
I didn't mind, just life's chances so grab a few.

It had been good, lying on the beach, no foxes' lair,
she'd said: 'Please be careful, rather don't go there,
mountains in the distance, so stand in front of me,
for that moment, you just are where you want to be.

You had many chances - it turned out you didn't take them,
a sort of pity because that time will never come again.