The Sound of Man…

Leaves rustle as I graciously shake my fur,
I crunch them with my step and appease them with their sound.

I am their master, their mighty King, I trot these lands with poise as I please,
I choose where I go next, I shall travel far and farther yet,
But to the steel-toe fence I shall never go ahead. 
To such solid ground, with songless suffering.
Where loud things roar, threatening my reign.

I hear they call it a road, too ambiguous for my small fox trot,
Outdistance me to my leaves again, 
I will not cross.