Thursday, 2 October 2014

Summer death…


The hedgehogs (postscript & epitaph)

There were three of them – poor souls –
Old before their time it was said
We fed our brothers as one does
As – unlike us –
It was said that their mother was dead

There were three of them – now two –
One other slung without the pomp
Over the broken wall with shame
We – cowards all –
Had her say that they had gone away

There was one of them – with shame –
The maggots taunting with their smiles
Wicked in their beckoning guiles
One – stomach split –
Had lost both mother and his life

There was one of them – their mum –
Old before their time we had said
Crushed by a rubber bomb slow speeding
As – unlike us –
She fought for fodder and their feeding

There are two of them – poor souls –
Hidden from the prowls of night-time
We fed our brothers as one does
But – eating not –
We prayed that with the warmth they would

(And then there were none – all gone –
Old before their time they had tried
To suffer as brothers but they died
One – to the end –
Fought hard – but that stench of pain will stay
For the three of them – poor souls –)

1 comment:

  1. There is such mastery here - the feel of assured precision. There is also the sensitivity of one who has felt the raw winds and the taste of soil in the mouth.
    Beautifully crafted.

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