O damn you! For you sap my mirth, <br />Digging, clawing, under earth, <br />Your days will soon be done, <br />Inch by inch, your endless toil <br />To mountain slag, on lawn you spoil! <br />O run you rodent, run; <br />Your blindness does not sap your wit, <br />For tasty poisons, do not sit <br />Upon your furry tongue; <br />And wary you of snare or trap <br />Ere baited, triggered, but no snap! <br />O run you rodent run; <br />But you no more will blight my day, <br />The game is run, I’ve moved away!<br /><br />john thomas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-mole-series-part-1-the-mole/
