Hedgehog Poem by Mary Champion

Late summer evening,
gentle breeze stirring,
I went to close the kitchen door,
paused for a while and saw,
snuffling across the lawn,
unperturbed by my presence,
a prickle-backed hedgehog.

Silently I watched.
Silently he moved,
his wary nose parting the grass,
side-lining the daisies;
moistened by the rising dew,
sniffing the musty soil
as he hunted his prey.

Had I dared to touch,
I had heard this much,
that he would instinctively curl
into a thistly ball -
a small brown ball of bristles -
play acting death to live.
I was minded to try.

How long could his nerve
hold out, absorb
the terror in his tiny heart,
waiting for the danger to pass?
But I stayed still by the door
observing his progress
from a tactful distance.

He scuffled along
my overgrown lawn
to a gap in the garden fence,
before I even had a chance
to fetch my phone and take a
photo I could post on
Facebook or whatever.

To tempt his return,
next night I set down
a saucer of fresh water and
a dainty dish of the cat's food;
took my post by the back door,
and waited for hours,
but he never came back.