Scamper.
What was that?
Grey flash in the brambles – ghost
of a swift-pawed scavenger
foraging by the river.
Hold a beat.
Hush now.
Gently. Gently.
Torch level, breath misting.
Then: bright eyes, whiskers all a twitch,
pink toes resting on the base of a tree
while nose lifts upwards, hopeful for tangy whiffs.
No luck here.
Faces us; What you looking at?
Gone.
Rope-tail the last thing we see
disappear.
This poem is part of my #52weeksofnaturepoetry project to raise funds for UK wildlife charity RSPB and to encourage an appreciation for nature. If you enjoyed it, please consider sharing it (including reblogging) and/or donating to the RSPB via my Just Giving page here.
Help keep wildlife wild.
Treeshallow Musings 