Stoat

It scurries upon each tainted step,
Countless of seeds sprung beneath its paws,
Beckoning the way to its meal,
Stirringly commends its scheme to await,

Treacherous pounce from a rock to another,
Claiming its place beneath the trees,
A knowing nod to the skies above,
As it leaps towards the clueless quarry,

The mice squeals at the sudden departure of its own life,
Wrangling between the jaws as it shuts it close,
A lively tether released from its tenure,
With a feast to snuff,

A burrow from where it thrives,
Invaded by its own demise,
The content stoat gnaws the brown fur,
A mouthful filled with the recently deceased.

By Sarah Shahzad, June 2025,