Mole
Early morning garden wandering
Feeling the wetness of dew
From the lawn’s long grass
Soaking through the shoe-soles
I stumble across something
That upsets the leisurely stroll
The tell-tale signs of spoil-heaps
The unmistakeable evidence
Of the presence of mole
Mounds are scattered round
Creating an irregular landscape
Pitted by small soil-mountains
Piles of loam above ground
Tunnelled out from down below
Such vandalism is not caused by the vole
These burrowings and diggings
Are of something a size larger
That can only suggest mole
I can trace 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
A scene of rural despoilation
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 deep down in my soul
That once he’s taken up residence
He’ll stick around for some time
And I’ll be sharing my lawn with a mole
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