without once having realised it is a dyke:
but ignorance is no embarrassment to dykes.
they have no other pleasure in the world.
Insects, weasels, the smallest birds –
and numerous other creatures
dykes wouldn’t recognise by name –
have been noticing dykes
ever since dykes were invented
by the first people who wanted
to keep things in or out.
Nothing understands a dyke like weasels,
and they have a lot going for them
once they get inside a dyke.
Birds rear their delicate families in dykes,
and weasels certainly know that too.
They never think, as far as anybody knows,
but they do a lot of looking
in a stupid, determined way.
and always will be.
The graves of dykes are dykes themselves,
no longer willing to stand up
to the responsibility of being dykes.
from: The Larch Plantation
Thanks to Norman Haddow for sending this poem my way.