Poem Archive

When the beasts were created
Nobody debated
Whether He who designed ’em
Could p’rhaps have refined ’em

The demon of cirrhosis struck
Poor Al Kuhollik sat and shivered
Too late he summoned Father Djinn
He was de-livered, not delivered

When I sit and I picture the little blind mole, he
Is down in the darkness ensconced in the hole
He has dug since the day he was born
And I wouldn’t have known that he lives in his tunnels