In Montana the badger looks at me in fear and buries himself where he stood in the soft sandy gravel only moments ago. I have to think it's almost like our own deaths assuming we had the wit to save money by digging our own graves or gathering the wood for the funeral pyre. But then the badger does it to stay alive, carrying his thicket, his secret room in his powerful claws. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE COURTSHIP OF THE YONGHY-BONGHY-BO by EDWARD LEAR SIMON LEGREE: NEGRO SERMON; MEMORIAL TO BOOKER T. WASHINGTON by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY THE ROSE (2) by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE DESERTED HOUSE by ALFRED TENNYSON THE ENEMY by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE A MORNING PIECE; WRITTEN IN ABSENCE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |