Poem 44 – The Visitor

A quivering scuttle
On the fringe
A spider? No…
As I turn to admire
It freezes
Like a child hiding
Behind its own hands
Believing they bequeath
The mouse stares
As I stare
Defying me
Before retreating
Releasing me from its grip

Tonight I had a visitor whilst working on Sunday’s service. As the winter weather hits, they often visit briefly seeking food before hibernating.


© Ben Quant 2021

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