poetry

Beneath

I knew a mole who lived

In a hole

And despite his dreams

He stayed there.

Its was warm for him,

And he liked the sound

Of the grass growing.

 

Time crawled by through

Better soil, and the mole

Stayed curled in a coil.

He did not want to know

What daylight would do

To dark fur.

 

The mole grew into his hole,

He would take a quick sniff

Checking the weather,

Then cover himself up again.

He couldn’t go, not knowing

The next steps, once he’d left.

 

I knew a mole, he buried something,

People call it a soul.

He couldn’t smell the scents ahead,

But I could tell (from an old bed),

Life was coming.

 

PhilosopherPoet

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