Every creature in its own way

Mistakes the Weasel

For somebody else – too late.

 

The Weasel’s white chest

Is the pretty pinafore of the waitress

Who brings the field-vole knife and fork.

 

The Weasel’s black ripe eyes

Brim with a heady elderberry wine

That makes the Rat drunk.

 

The Weasel’s fully-fashioned coat,

Lion-colour, wins her admittance

To the club of snobby goslings.

 

When the Weasel dances her belly dance

Brainless young buck rabbits

Simpering, go weak at the knees.

 

When the Weasel laughs

Even the Mole sees the joke

And rolls in the aisles, helpless.

 

 

from the collection ‘What is the truth?’