Old Spike Poem by Phil Soar

Old spike was legend in hedgehog terms
All he ate were slugs and worms
He made so many journeys on his nightly jaunts
Visiting his favourite dining haunts
Dodging all the traffic on the way to eat
Curling up when needed, tucking in his feet
Carrying his fleas and lice and nits
Across many miles of tar and grit
Sleeping through the daytime, up at dusk
Setting off to earn his nightly crust
Clearing up the gardens, with people unaware
Just how much good he’s doing there