THE DORMOUSE 

Peter Woodgate 

Throughout the cold dark winter

The ice, the sleet and snow,

Searched endlessly for old and weak

To deal death’s body blow.

And in the fields and woodlands

Small creatures met their fate,

Apart from one small mammal

Who chose to hibernate.

His tiny feet held upward,

His head upon his chest,

The dormouse dreamt, woke up in spring

To clamber from his nest.

Why was this creature spared

From winter’s terrible slaying?

Perhaps it was just Lady Luck,

Or was he really praying?

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate