The Mole the Merrier? ©
Dalton in Furness, England
There’s a mole at the bottom of the garden,
I’m told they’re awful cute.
I’d like to arrange a meeting,
Between his a**e and my boot.
18 months of garden forcing,
“A landscape to behold.”
But to Mr. Mole, his only goal,
“A landscape to be HOLED!”
Why me? Why now?
Am I so bad?
Just when it was looking nice!
I’ve tried to shift him humanely,
Taken all sorts of advice,
Ultrasonic noise emitters,
Stink him out with spice.
Till now I have this recurring dream,
Which involves a hacksaw and vice.
If I had caught him earlier,
I’d have found him a nice place to dig.
Perhaps the local football club’s pitch,
It’s soft, and green, and big.
But after these weeks of torture,
The dark-side, seen have I!
Now his only relocation will be,
To that great mole-hill in the sky!
But alas, he ignores my mole-trap,
And he doesn’t come every day.
I’m sure he’s trying to wind me up,
When I think he’s gone away.
As soon as I rake out and flatten the lumps
He’ll surface again, then I’m down in the dumps.
Laugh away, Mr. Mole!
And that grin.. you can wear it!
By the way,
May I say,
Have you met my new ferret?