On the Death of a Mole

His body mutilated by dogs
His black shiny coat is torn open to expose
Flesh underneath
He was an ordinary garden mole
Who tried to take
(No, not his own life)
But a peek at the daylight
At sun and sky
And smell the fragrant flowers
And as he cautiously pushed
His little head from the dark depths below
He was just trapped and killed
Because he might have spoiled the looks
Of a blind woman’s well manicured lawn