My mate the Badger

The creature that hunt’s when the skies are not blue
When the moon is awake when probably you
Are tucked up in bed with a dream in your eye
Wildness is there’s if you give it a try
The badger his sett is deep in the earth
In some lonely dingle this fellow finds worth
In living the woodland
In underground dawns
He is wild
And a child in this country of yawns
Who draws out the spirit
Who knows the desire
Who darts through the brambles
And faces man~ fire
The mosses may comfort him
Dauntingly he
May trek to the brook
In his flight to be free
But the fire in the guns
Of those people who think
Badgers and TB
That there is a link
And who portions out blame
And consign’s cubs to die
In underground passages
I ask them why?

The creature that hunts
By itself all alone
On the verge of the bank
By the huge standing stone
Who take’s out a rabbit
In seconds and so
That rough coat of grey
Can continue to grow

The point of me writing
About this old lad
Who spends lots of time
In the dark of his pad
Is that now it’s the Badger
Whose seen as the foe
He carries disease
To the cows down below
In the fields giving milk
Till their udders run dry
And then its the chop
And then they must die

Some take it on They must
dispatch
This bold little creature
Who just is no match
He is honestly caring
And charged with such fun
And doesn’t deserve
To die by the gun