Pauline and the Foxes' Folly

In a quaint little bungalow, at the edge of the town,
Lives Pauline, our heroine, with hair of silver crown.
Eighty-five and spry as ever, fiercely independent,
She loves her cosy garden and her paving, oh so splendid.

Oh, Pauline, Pauline, the foxes made a plan,
To steal her quiche and fish pie, but she’s a wily gran.
With traps and tricks and cleverness, she made the foxes flee,
Pauline’s garden’s fox-free now, her domain in victory.

The foxes with their beady eyes, they watched her every night,
From under hedges, over fences, in the pale moonlight.
She feared they'd ambush her one day, while fetching from the shed,
A homemade pie, a quiche or two, her freezer's pride and bread.

With her back garden paved so nice, she’d gaze with pride anew,
But those pesky foxes ruined it, with droppings and a chew.
So Pauline hatched a cunning scheme, she paid a man in traps,
To catch the furry bandits, and perhaps avoid mishaps.

The trap was sprung, the fox was caught, and taken far away,
Pauline’s smile was broad and bright, she’d won the battle, hey!
Now she watches carefully, for any new invasion,
But her garden’s safe and sound again, a fortress of elation.

So here’s to Pauline, brave and bold, with freezer full and heart of gold,
Her garden’s now a peaceful place, where foxes dare not show their face.
A tale of triumph, wit, and might, of how one woman won the fight,
Against the foxes in the night, Pauline’s garden now shines bright!