The Muskrat
by Paul Curlee

Up on the top of north field, there
I was digging ditch to lay a pipe in
When I came upon him, cold yet soft
And wondered how this muskrat died.

Perhaps from winter burrow he came
And passed ‘fore knowing Spring
Or some thing or animal or man
Had struck him down, for yet unclaimed hide.

An old man passerby commenced
To tell the difference ‘tween muskrat and the beaver.
That the muskrat burrows through so water leaks,
But beavers dam to hold the watery tide.

No matter little one, I care not
But wonder of your ramblings in and out
The Creator set you here to do
And not for me to judge, but marvel at your side.

Perchance our lives do cross here in the ditch
And now your resting grave for just some time
While I reflect on lifes next passage:
“Should I be he, or he be me,” I sighed.

I buried a muskrat in the field today
And in a strong and quiet mood,
Many life’s lessons come and learned
While deeply digging ditches wide.