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The Taming of the Shrew
overtaken by cats, usurped by
To Kill a Mockingbird
There was a day I thought that
The pet we kept was not a rat
But a shrew-
Who knew…..oh well,
What the hell.
It was cute and awfully sweet
With big pink ears and tiny feet,
Or paws, I guess.
But it was the tail that threw me I confess.
Siberian gerbil or Nubian mouse
It mattered not the “Out of the house!’
Alas, the shrew, or rather the rat,
was espied by the neighbouring cat
Well….that was that.
I now keep birds,
Who chirp and sing in minor thirds.
Songs without words,
they can sometimes turn the milk to curds.
Bloody birds.
It would be a cinch
to take a finch and feed them to the cat.
Wouldn’t she like that.
But drat!
That would be just too mean.
There must be something les sang-froid I could glean.
My conscience pricks.
Perhaps I’ll just use sharpened sticks
then roast them on their skewer,
and after a luncheon they’re would be fewer,
by a major third, singing
bringing
quietude and equipoise.
And any left over could be froze
for another meal.
By God I feel
I will do this because I can.
It’s a plan!