White Streak…
Time was passing in the copse,
A darkening stage.
Surely time to depart,
As a slight chill ruffled leaves
Upon solemn trees, stubborn with age.
As the light began to lapse,
Three badgers sidled into view,
One bearing a white streak
Upon its grey back, a flash,
A random marking askew…
It was shy, nervous perhaps,
Lingering at the rim of a sett.
Then it disappeared as the din
Of birdsong and the strong rapeseed scent
Worried it to return to its cete…
Pete Ray
17th May 2023
For the second time in a week, a nervous badger with a whitish mark upon its pelt appeared in the copse…
Intrigued by it…
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