excavating with spade-like paws,
vital drainage in otherwise compacted ground.
Above, we see marks of their passage –
mounds of well-turned earth,
from clearing their intricate tunnels.
Occasionally, they emerge,
noses appearing first
like eager bulbs shooting up debut leaves.
But tunnels don’t dig themselves;
back to work,
shifting between activity and sleep
every four hours.
Shy creatures, they disturb few.
Still, they are called out,
Bodies strung on fences to prove the count.
And all to protect land
reserved for nothing more
than human pastimes
This poem is part of a project I’m doing to raise money for the RSPB, a UK wildlife conservation and protection charity. If you’d like to help, please share this poem to encourage others to take joy in nature, and if you have the time and means to donate, you can do so here. Let’s help keep our wildlife wild!