Nocturnal

Nocturnal

In the silence of the evening
from the inky depths of shadow
they come, snorting, snuffling, shuffling,
monochrome, across the meadow.

In the moonlight, button eyes gleamed
as, through the open gate they wandered,
questing snouts deep in the rose bed,
not a slug or snail is squandered.

Sitting in the warm dry darkness
anticipating their arrival,
motionless, in case they scarper,
watch them hunt for their survival.

Every night they come to visit
oblivious to their benefactors
who supplement the natural bounty
to keep their nightly cast of actors.