The weasel and the pea


The least beast weasel grates on the nerves

Of stoats in coats,

When there are cluttering colanders

To consider.

Boats edge moats,

They floats.

The oily water laps

Taps turn and fill,


My head is like a sieve full of peas,


Dead bees

And cheese.

The least beast weasel greets the lost pea,

The one that got away.

They have not got much to say

To one another

For one is a weasel

And the other is pea.

The weasel considers and then delivers his verdict,

The pea deserves it.  He’s heard it

But not absorbed it.

He’s glad, in a way, for freedom is kinda lonely,

Especially when you’re the only


Slow shrivelling death by drying.

Is the verdict.

The least beast weasel grates and greets,

And the pea is squashed beneath his pitter patter feet.