The Year Turn Fablist

The audience of trees wait and watch,

And birds sing in the wings,

The leaves rustle on forest floor,

The starting bellflowers ring.

 

The late summer sunshine streams straight,

 Shafts through branches spot light

The sett, den, hole and burrow where

We set our scene and sight.

 

From underneath, our cast emerge

from dark and dim to play,

they act tough but they rush their lines,

the nervousness of prey.

 

For the villain Reynard may come,

Upstage them haughtily,

Costumed in gold, sharp teeth to bite, they’re

Swallowed to obscurity.

 

Fox does not care, he knows them not

As individuals,

Voles, moles, rabbits are all the same,

All hedgehogs mixable.

 

But this is not the case of course,

Here comes our leading man!

With prickle back, sharp mind, brave spine

Urchin thinks up a plan.

 

Bill posters appear nailed to trees,

Announcing a grand run,

The prize? Respect. And accolade,

A critics choice, bar none.

 

Pride chases the top of the chain.

It is their enemy.

Where no one else can take a bite,

Conceit eats stealthily.

 

So they start their lines deep in the wood,

Fox stands as sure as sure,

With the little Urchin hedgehog,

His sole competitor.

 

Unbeknownst to Fox, they’ve practiced,

Rehearsed Urch’s master plan,

The creatures all stand in their place,

Straight out of the blocks -bang!

 

Fox runs so fast, a speeding flame,

Ahead what does he see?

It’s Hedgehog’s spiky body! What?

Confused, that cannot be!

 

He overtakes, turns back to look,

He’s sure he’s going to win,

But when Fox looks forward again,

The leader is Urchin!

 

He speeds up, sprints, he’s panting but

Ahead what does he hear?

Hedgehog’s across the finish line!

It’s for Urchin that they cheer!

 

With tail between his legs, Fox leaves,

Exit sulky outcast,

Forever to creep in shadow,

His glory days are passed.

 

They are unique. No two the same,

Arrogance made Fox blind,

From holes along the course they came,

Rolled small to hide behind.

 

Successful Urchin takes a bow,

Reynard fell for the trap.

It starts  to rain. Its getting dark.

Night falls and thunder claps.

​

Poem 'The Race' by Amelia Gledhill loosely based on the folktale​, 'How the Hedgehog Ran the Devil to Death' collected by Ruth Tongue, 1917 and published in, 'A Dictionary of British Folk Tales in the English Language'  ed. Katherine Briggs (London: Routledge, 1970)

​

‘The Race’ © K. Amelia Gledhill 2023

The right of Amelia Gledhill to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced without the prior permission in writing of the author.