The Badger

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The badger is a wily beast

Leaving his sand lair at last light

He digs around for wormy feasts

Using his sharp nose not his sight

He finds his way from branch to roots

As the late-night owl hunts and hoots

 

The forest is somewhere he knows best

Where he and his friends do rejoice

Nose to the breeze and shoulder deft

He listens out for a chirping voice

Ghosting his way through eerie gloom

Of mist and fog we can only assume

 

As we hardly ever see him move

Or dance and chatter with his mate

We sleep and of him disapprove

But he and nature are connate

Playing with his close comrades

The stripy critter is a night nomad

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Myself