A Rat In Springtime

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.

by Pete Crowther

Comments (6)

Hello, Peter! This is the first poem of yours that I've read, I think. Not much for wild rats, but I share your sympathy for this poor thing. Well-written observation. I will be back for more!
Peter Rats well I can take them or leave them/ I just could not leave this one. great poem cheers Sylvie
Poor thing. I dunno why ppl hate rats, , but they are cool creatures. It's a good one Peter. Nice poem.
Poor old thing - I hate rats but this one gained my sympathy
Did you put it out of its missery? I myself have seen a mouse, which showed no signs of tumor but it was in an awful way and acted quite peculiar! I tried to save it for a while but no help I could give it. So then I freed it once again and farewell I did bid it! Sorry, couldn't help myself! xx SG
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