Vinca Press

 

 

 

 

Farmer’s Friend

I’m a cool and curious fellow with black

Behind my ears and a special knack

Of hearing that can track the slightest sound

Of rustling mouse or insect underground.

I do not mean to boast but I’m awesome

Too, I think. Who else can match my magnum

Leap across two meters high of fence,

My brush with hair so richly red and dense?

Who else could live unseen beneath a shed

Yet clear the city streets of wasted bread?

Who else has shown such skill to keep control

Of rabbits, problem pigeons, rats and vole?

It’s obvious that I’m useful, do my best

And yet some humans claim that I’m a pest.

They’re hunters mostly wanting me for sport

So whip up tales of hate to get me caught.

They say that I will kill their hens and pets

But I don’t mess with cats that hiss with threats.

Of course, I’m partial to a tasty meal

But battery hens today have no appeal.

I much prefer a pizza seized with ease,

A peanut butter sandwich topped with cheese.

It’s true that if a pheasant comes my way,

I seize my chance. I don’t debate, delay.

But mostly I live veggie like on fruit.

So why should hunters trap me, snare and shoot?

I am the farmer’s friend; his fields are free

Of vandal mice and rabbits, thanks to me.

Unlike most humans, I do not pollute.

I travel light on foot when I commute.

I like my fun, it’s true. I’m not a saint.

But I am not the Hun the hunters paint.

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