The Fox, Half in a Box Once there was a purple fox, That half of whom lived in a box; The other half, I should confess, Would wear the finest formal dress. He did not like his half box suit, That made his fox friends laugh and hoot, But he would hold his nose up high, And raise a monocle to his eye. "But what's the reason?", I hear you say, "Why does he dress in such a way?" The answer is as strange and odd, As the cardboard box around his bod. When he was just a common fox, A forager without a box, He'd roam the streets with hunting packs, To look in bins for bones and snacks. He'd make a racket, such a din! Wake up the owners of their bin; So half the time, they'd let him stay, And half would yell "JUST GO AWAY!!" And this would happen every night: Those half would give him such a fright, Until they got their wish one day, When half of him... just 'WENT AWAY!' And so, to stop them point and jeer, At a fox that could only half appear, He had no choice but hide his shame, And a fox, half in a box became. It wasn't all bad, I should say, For though half of him had gone away, The other half was much admired, For no longer could he wake the tired. Soon he was a famous star, Chauffeured in a purple car, Where he'd be taken to dine and chat, By a driver-weasel in a hat. Now dressed in finest purple clothes, He's far better off now, I suppose; But I often wonder, muse and quiz: Just WHERE his missing half now is?