The body of a mole
lies curled up in the path
resting meekly on its side
where it breathed its last.

It seems to beg forgiveness
for being in our way
and maybe causing us
a moment of dismay.

Its agony (if any)
would have gone unheard
or forgotten soon enough
by a passing bird.

This creature asks for nothing,
seeks no sympathy
for a life of mole-sized joys
and tiny tragedy.

No burial is required,
no eulogies or grief
for a life so small, so limited,
so relatively brief.

This body knows it has to go
humbly into earth–
Requiems are reserved
for those of greater worth.