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.