This tiny vermin has a lot of nerve
To so unceremoniously crawl
Across this polished granite, which is all
Some poor decedent has left now to serve
To keep his fading memory alive.
This shiny stone, assaulted by the rain
Disgraced by feathered folks time and again
Attacked by an arachnid who should strive
To crawl around it, at the very least.
I've half a mind to crush him with my shoe
But this would further desecrate the stone
To splay the essence of this little beast.
So I suppose there's nothing I can do
But ask him, please, to leave the dead alone.
© October 22, 2004 by Allan M. Heller
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