This poem is dedicated to the memory of my late grandfather Wayne Stroud and in honor of my brother Ross Stroud. Both of their birthdays were yesterday, August 28. This is meant to celebrate their special relationship.
“Ballad 8.28 (Ballad of Red Fox and White Tail)”
Gather round for all to hear the tale of Red Fox,
Let’s not forget his young cadet White Tail.
Their friendship somehow became their folktale.
All the story was provided by the grandfather’s vox,
Now the grandson reforms it just like Knox.
No, the story is not contained in any book.
The foxy grandpa was strong and imposing like The Duke.
This tall tale of these warriors traveled on the swift wings of hawks.
The young buck of a grandson was just as strong as a Clydesdale.
Now their family tells the yarn in their home in the Boondocks.
Grandpa Fox was a raconteur that none could top,
People for miles around still know him by his name.
Grandson Buck didn’t know when their story would stop.
Of course, their kinship was bound to be storied since their birthday was the same.
Grandpa Fox meant the story to tease, but it was affection, like when White Tail’s ears he’d box.
© Ryan Stroud 2018