Ode to the Mole By Terry Bugbearer

I have a love I dare not tell For a small burrowing animal It's not a weasel, stoat or vole but the small, industrious mole.

He makes hills out of my lawn to his earthy mounds I am always drawn. His dark body I can't resist I have to run one off the wrist.

Now I only come out at night to share in his nocturnal delight. He will be mine come rain or shine he's so much better than a porcupine.

But one night I got blind drunk And cheated on him with a skunk. My love and I we had a fight he was left with Rolf for the rest of the night.

Sad to say my mole has died I glued him to a pole outside. Now no-one can take him away from me Until he is removed surgically. © Terry Bugbearer - 2004

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