SPIKE

SPIKE

 

Daylight confusion reigns,

the creature fails

to separate diurnal from nocturnal rules.

 

One easily discerns

something’s amiss

but has no ready answer  

 

to the hedgehogs plight.

Find a nice box, line it

with newsprint, hay and towels

 

for the bewildered traveller,

leave it a snack

to nibble on. Come morning

 

the food has gone,

a coil of spines

heaves sleeping breaths

 

amongst the packaging.

I compliment myself

on job well done. Later,

 

the sun has reached it’s powering height,

the creature ventures out

and dozes on the sun-drenched lawn –

 

I move the spiky one

back into sheltered snuggling warmth

where he remains this time

 

but never roams again.

 

 

                                        Malcolm Evison

                                         12 August 2009

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3 Responses to SPIKE

  1. Jen says:

    Oh, Mal! It\’s beautiful. Felt like crying at the last line, though…

  2. Malcolm says:

    Pleased you like the poem Jen – sadly, it\’s all true … even the last line. I tried but was found wanting!

  3. penny says:

    Sad poem Mal, but well done you for trying to help the poor creature.

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