By John Reddin

He sneaked up on the cricket
And it wasn't really fair
That the insect had no knowledge
Of the danger in the air

He was creeping like the hunter
That was in him all his life
Crawling slowly on his belly
Never thinking of the strife

That his tunnel vision meanness
Would inflict upon the way
That some poor, defenceless creature
In the stillness of the day

Would be kicked and punched and pummelled
By a cat whose sole intent
Was to get himself some tucker
And his mind is so hell-bent

On the quarry that confronts him
In the garden on that day
He forgot about his neck-bell
And the cricket jumped away.