Just over the rise,
A weasel stood up to speak.
Her tail and back drooped,
There were tears in her eyes
And some egg yolk stuck to her cheek.
"The farmers down yonder,
How they harry and try us,
They use and abuse and upend us.
I ask you to ponder
Just one moment, why us?
Are there no wolves out there to defend us?
"Foresaken, my sisters,
Forgotten indeed,
Patronized, hammered and roasted!
Boiled to a blister,
Robbed of our seed
But peace I can bring you," she boasted.
"Hide your eggs in my warren,
There's a tunnel just by,
And the farmer's pail holds death.
The coop's now as foreign
As the white-clouded sky
And you all deserve bugs on your breath."
Her sermon stuttered,
The old screen-door slammed
And the farmer, in coveralls, came.
"Weasel?" he muttered
Under each nest he peeked,
Took some eggs and scattered some grain.
When he'd gone,
The weasel that he hadn't seen
Returned to homilize and inspire
The laying hens cackled along,
And crowned her hen-house queen,
So she bowed, took an egg and retired.
WEASEL, n. The new lion. Homo pirroueticus.
18 comments:
Bugs on your breath is one thing, but I hate it when they're stuck in my teeth.
Weasel: usually an exceptionally good liar.
WTF??? Why am I first at this time of day. I didn't watch the news today, has hell frozen over?
No Tigers.
Only lions, weasels and chickens.
And I'm quite positive this poem is NOT in the Devil's Dictionary!
TLP, just because you're immune to decline, doesn't mean this blog is. Is that spinach?
Rip, you're right, of course. Wednesdays and Saturdays have originalish content, as explained beneath the coyote.
WEASEL, n. Employee of the Sales and Marketing Department (who may or may not wear robes and/or collars). Also (phr.), the Department's motto.
Weasel: Sneaky little buggers that make your car break down when you most need it
Did someone say spinach? I love it!
Like a paid blogger, Amoeba?
Nicole, do you mean Diesel?
Ariel, I'm a fan of spinach, too, but I'm neither a fox nor a vampire.
Very good, take a bow.
Shall we join hands and sing "where have all the lions" gone?
Weasels don't dance they pop. Right?
Doug -- I want a divorce. Call your lawyer.
Quilly, funny you say that, I read "pirroueticus" as "pirroerecticus" at first, maybe you want to use it on the trial?
Dang Cooper! I thought you knew ... weasels only pop in nursery rhymes.
quilly! Why would you want a lawyer -- don't you live in Hawaii?
Oh, and I am demanding custody of all the comments I have left on your site!
I knew the title of the poem reminded me of somehting, here!
You got me dancin', dancin'.
Why don't you help me? Why don't you guide me?
Why don't you promise? To stand beside me.
What a weasel... Those chickens have no chance.
Actonbell, may the morning bring you grain, may the evening bring your beer and may nightfall find you an egg.
Cooper, I think if we all join hands, the question answers itself.
Quilly, it was an innocent question.
Mine or yours, Ariel?
Karen, I suppose the warm and constant wind prepares them for the jusge.
OK, Quilly, but they are an unruly lot.
Ariel, you had me googling, googling
Why don't you cite Chris Isaak?
I hope that song's ironic.
Or he's gone wimpy wimpy.
When you listen to him, you swear he is making fool of himself and the world, that's what makes him big. :)
I'm relieved.
Post a Comment