harbored into the Tree of Life.
“Just for a moment” they said,
as they bored, deep and red,
into the roots,
teeth and claw gnashing ripe.
Forty-five monstrous moles
dug into the limbs with fury.
Once a home for the multitude,
now breached, undermined,
and weakened in crude, devious fashion.
“No need to worry” heeded the critters,
the no-good, nocturnal hitters
that chawed at the fibers
so many creatures called home.
“We’re here to help, and fix all your problems,
to ward off your enemy, and stable the wobblems
that you know nothing about.”
And the forty-five ill-intended moles
set about creating holes
for all of the other lives to fall into.
Molly Roland is a writer by nature, and she enjoys stepping over the invisible lines society loves to draw.