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