I have not seen you out for many a night,
what happened to you, my nocturnal friend?
You used to be a common evening sight,
but now those sightings have come to an end.

The only time I ever see you now
is when behind my steering wheel I’m sat,
and you are sprawled out on the road quite flat.
I wish you could avoid that fate somehow.

As soon as darkness fell you would be out,
on summer evenings you were always there,
foraging in hedgerows with your snout;
since then your nightly outings are but rare.

You curled into a ball when I came near
and straightened out again when I had gone.
I was no threat to you, my prickly one,
my presence did not need to cause you fear.

In gardens out of harm’s way at nightfall,
I wish you’d kept to your own habitat.
Better by far you curl into a ball
than get hit by a lorry and be flat.