The wombat builds each burrow
mindful of each tomorrow
knowing he won’t stay long
before an urge moves him on

then on he goes to build again
dig and scrape til when
he sees some point of no return 
ends nights scouring with a yawn

he sleeps all day and eats all night
moves very slowly unless with fright 
when with lightning speed he bolts for a hole
one’s always nearby because building's his role

after a while he returns to the past
to re-excavate old burrows that didn’t last
knowing the smell and pleasure of earth
knowing each hole is his home and hearth

Today’s d’Verse prompt for we poets was from Kim. We were asked to write about animals making their homes. We have lots of Wombats around our place, so it was an obvious choice.