Collapit

Rabbit holes, narrow as a beggar’s luck
can be deceiving
dangerous to both life and limb.

In the winter they are bare,
tight drainpipes with ragged stone-clad walls
that whisper in a local tongue,
and run red wet
with the skin of travellers past.

Summer, in full camouflage
they conspire and constrict 
with hungry ivy lichen tendrils
that feign soft welcome,
to lure the hapless foreigner, with
tangling-aged signposts
that addle and beguile,
never to be seen again.

© Graham Sherwood 07/2017