As I rode down a narrow lane
with steep green sides of grass and bane,
canopies of laced green leaf
shaded all that lie beneath,
a sudden glimpse of something that
went to ground under the mat
of bramble, nettle and prickly gorse,
not the place for man nor horse.
No animal can flit this quick
can only be a country trick,
then red and brown it dropped to ground
wing tips square and body strong
it didn’t have a gentle song.
To activate this motivation,
came within from consternation
for the sight of movement low
instigated hatred, no!
a need to feed inherent to
a bird on high that likes the shrew.