It was a lovely day, <br />The hawthorn hedge <br />Was coming into bloom <br />And on the lawn <br />Just freshly mown <br />Something slowly moved. <br /> <br />It was a rat <br />So old its fur was caked <br />With dirt, its skin <br />Was scaled with scabs <br />And on its back <br />Like something <br /> <br />Pornographic or obscene <br />A tumour glistened. <br />It was the most <br />Disgusting thing <br />I’d ever seen. <br />It stumbled <br /> <br />As it made its way <br />Across the grass. <br />It did not seem <br />To match the day, <br />The singing birds <br />Now busy with their broods, <br /> <br />The butterflies <br />That fluttered in the sun. <br />This rat had had its day. <br />I tried to put myself <br />Into its head. <br />It could not see <br /> <br />Or hear the birds, <br />It could not smell <br />And was in desperate pain. <br />The poor thing <br />Was trembling, <br />And lost. <br /> <br />Have pity on this tortured soul, <br />It could be you or me.<br /><br />Pete Crowther<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-rat-in-springtime/
