Mole
Early wandering around in the garden
Feeling the wetness of dew
From the lawn’s long grass
Soaking through the toes of my shoes
I stumble across something
That’s upsetting my leisurely stroll
The tell-tale signs of spoil-heaps
The unmistakeable evidence
Of the presence of mole
The mounds are scattered around
Creating an irregular landscape
Of small mountains of soil
Piles of earth above ground
Tunnelled out from down below
Such vandalism is not from any vole
But the burrowings and diggings
Of something a size larger
That can only suggest mole
I can see the track of his wanderings
The lines that betray channels below
As he blindly pursues his lone destiny
And I wonder if he ever pokes his head up
To see where he’s got to today?
The underneath’s now riddled with holes
And it’s a scene of rural destruction
Where the worms have scattered in panic
In their heedless flight from the mole
And I’ll whack the piles with a spade
Trying to flatten them down once again
In a quite futile gesture of anger
That will do little good in the end
For my little invader won’t be deterred
And I know it deep in my soul
That once he’s taken up residence
He’ll stick around for some time
And I’ll be sharing the lawn with a mole
Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013
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