Slightly Slanted

Leaning sideways on the borrowed path to goodness
He leaps to avoid the charging tortoise and stumbles
headlong into the badger hole where three wee little
critters stare strangely into his soul.
“Have you seen my map in here?” he asks expecting
no reply.

“A map?” squeaks Tinsdale, the runtiest vermin
as if he’d never heard that word before-
“Yes, by golly, a map indeed,” he spoke in unbelief,
Then knocked his knuckles against his temple
“And how is it you talk to me?”

Then Big Boy Badger, his name ironic,
nuzzled up to mister man, and with a knarly,
knowing laughter, looked at him
Like a knowing badger can.
“Talking’s not only a human gift; for sure, they mess it up
more times than not. A badger can command
A tongue, as every living creature can,” Big Boy
paused a moment more thinking about the wayward man.

“Maps are manmade tools. Men need them to find their way.
We, God’s ‘lesser’ creatures, need no extra guiding tools.
We have noses, ears, instincts, even spirits that guide
us onward and back again. You, good Stanley, must have lost
the access code to smell, hear, feel, and sense.”
Then Big Boy turned to curl up again to out wait the winter
chill; he peeked back at the staring man and offered one last
gentle slam: “Go and find your way above, but don’t think
a GPS will help. What you need to know you have inside,” he chortled.
“Even a rodent knows no need to yelp.”

"Which way do I go, which way do I go....???"

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