Its true it was not I who killed the bandicoot; and
yet we’d grieve no less to have to view its death,
find it senseless savagery - at best in retrospect,
wonder who expressed a viciousness in slaying
such a tiny placid beast out where its peacefully
existing in rare harmony until it breathes it’s last;
I’m not aware if there are dingoes loose upon th’
hill and haven’t heard their eerie calls this year
To find a body where you’d not expect t’ see the
little beast, unless it suffered agonies & crawled
the hill to find a safer, open place now quietens
me; in empathy we also live up here, makes an
empty thought we’d question need if sanctuary;
at least this bushland angel rests in peace …
© 9 March 2016, I. D. Carswell
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