Poem: Midnight struggle.
As night falls on a warm summer’s Eve,
tiny steps of mischief do roam neat and free.
Along ancient rock walls of a farmer’s back field,
a tank of water sits still and green.
Until under the cover of darkness as if fancying a swim,
a mouse meets its Struggle, as the tank drums and dims.
Walls out of reach for the eager foot-paw,
it accepts its fate to the algal slaw.
Until the sun reappears bringing with it two brothers,
in awe by the scene and the struggle it followed.
Fished out with a stick to the sound of jackdaws,
glossy fur on limestone for the Struggle that was.