Hedgehog
Look! Can you see? Out of the window?
Snowflakes are falling, white blankets are forming.
Patience, little one,
Soon it will be quilted and quiet.
Not far away, three small mammals are doing their sleeping:
The dormouse, pipistrel and the solitary hedgehog -
Mystical prickled pig of the hedgerow.
Ssh, she's away with the fairies.
Snug in her nest, may her slumbers be blessed.
One in a million,
She's a spherical urchin
Curled tight on a cushion of twigs.
Hedgehog is dreaming, snuffling,
To chobble on tanklements of millipede and earwig.
No, no, no!
No mediaeval harbinger of doom -
She's a bristly broom,
Self-anointed by toad skin and poo,
She brushes in spring anew.
And in the half-lit, moonlit summers,
Her little donnies will write spells -
Not ‘ills’, with her quills,
As trails of silvered cursive script
In the glistening ink of snails -
Near nanny’s pots and pails on the patio.
Later, little one,
Her thorny needles will stitch cobwebs of autumn
Between the railings on the hill,
Knitting together a tapestry of seasons.
Shapeshifting.
Bewitching.
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