The Mole hill gatherers

The mole hill gatherers come, with bucket and spade and barrow.
At the early arrival of dusk.
The fine milled soil gently lifted.
To heap the bucket full.

This crumbled earth, damp scented.
With Arrow root and Garlic.
Churned up by the wide flat feet of the illusive creature.

It tunnels its burrow through roots and rock and clay.
Small mountains rise above the sappy grass
The garners scoop it to the barrows brim.
To plant their new born seedlings in

No finer earth can there be found than the soil of the mole hill.
Pushed up through the heavenly ground.
Such bounty in that sifted mound.