Moles

Subterranean tunnellers
Massive earth movers
Tiny ears tiny eyes
Workers of note
Working god’s earth
For all of their worth
Hills there are many
Out of the throat

They are industrious
Working the Loam
Storing the earth worms
Injecting the foam
Substance creating a store of goodwill
Untainted ste cupboards
Amazingly still

Look over yonder
Hawthorn hart spreads
A pasture of positives
Northwards it heads
Down to the river
The mill and the stream
Where the hazels and cats tails
For want of a dream

There appears an infantry
Seemingly rising
Following the horses
It’s hardly surprising
Torah and Eve
The heat of the hooves
Gently ascribing
Upon the mole rooves

Creating their circles
Such magic below
In the wet tunnels
Of long long ago
Building their hills
Embattled are they
Fighting the roots and the tufts of decay