Moles

Blindly we build our burrows

Scraping around in the cold dark earth.

Our subterranean labyrinth reaches out,

Then, grasping nothing, collapses.

Something calls us to the surface.

We emerge confused into the light,

Bedazzled by birdsong and breezes,

The strength of the sun

Whose vast immensity

We have no capacity to comprehend.

We feel something, understand nothing.

We turn tails and scrabble back

To the industrious dark.

By Lizzie Sherwood-Smith

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