poetry

How I learned a surprising lesson in resilience

Poet and artist Frieda Hughes sees an example of grit and determination in the most unlikely of places

Friday 24 January 2025 08:42 EST

MOLE POEM

The mole has met the road’s aggregate at the verge

And hit his soft and downy head against

The sharp, compacted stone through which

The spades of his digger feet cannot find a way.

He tosses up a mound and tries again,

A little to the right and another mound,

The sorest of paws and another headache,

Only to find the bony black mass still obstructs him.

He continues to dig towards the field across the road

Moving a little to the right each time but being blocked.

He can smell the vast food-store as if the worms are beckoning

From beneath the sheep-trod crust and sodden green.

The sheep stand in their gateway, puzzled at the mole’s mind,

And watch the roadside earth only feet away

Across the separating strip of mole-resistant tarmac

Buckle and granulate upwards, one hillock after another.

Every day I walk the huskies past the string of mounds,

Each one right next to the other, so far fifteen,

And still the little mole has not given up

And turned around.

Thank you for registering

Please refresh the page or navigate to another page on the site to be automatically logged inPlease refresh your browser to be logged in