This wanderer of hedgerow, lane
and wood, this spiny hog,
comes gently, snuffling, once again,
emerges from the fog
of centuries bygone, of dreams,
And curls before our sight,
And smokelike, grave and secret seems,
This denzien of night.
Yet charm as ever, conquers all,
As caring holds the key,
To woodland haunt, to coarse brown ball,
To hedgehog mystery!
I think its time to form a Society for the Adoration of the Hedgehog. We can serve rosehip punch and custard. Ginger cookies in the shape of acorns. I can think of two people at least who would join in. What about you? Do you want to be the Hedgehog's friend?
In this grouping, there's a herb holder, a little portrait plate, and a lady holding her garden friend. There's a statue too, and a tiny cup to go with it, be advised Hedgehogs like LOTS of milk in their tea.