Posted by Admin on 27 February 2008, 12:00 am
Up and down the path he frolics;
kicks and flicks, in see-saw scamper,
crystals from the dew-drenched grasses:
near the idle up-turned barrow,
by the grey-green bole of apple,
swerves, pursues a course tangential.
Pauses now to nibble tender
shoots the husbandman has planted;
sitting target he for twelve-bore.
Scot-free skips behind the tufted
grass, where only ears betray him.
Next across the lawn he bounces,
bold against its iridescence,
knowing neither snare not ferret.
T. C. Hudson
© T. C. Hudson.
Village
Parish Council