The Mower

 The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found
A hedgehog jammed up against the blades,
Killed.
 It had been in the long grass.


I had seen it before, and even fed it, once.

Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world
Unmendably.
 Burial was no help:

Next morning I got up and it did not.

The first day after a death, the new absence
Is always the same; we should be careful

Of each other, we should be kind
While there is still time.

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