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Rated: E · Poetry · Animal · #1734883
A tale of a door snake.
Now that I am getting older,
one thing is certain and quite true;
winter seems a lot more colder,
so there are things I need to do.

And one involves the nippiness
that comes from winds up off the lake;
so I draw comfort from the hiss
of my fat, trusty gray door snake.

Mostly python, a hint of asp,
his one eye darts just like a cat;
the other day I failed to clasp
and so he bit me where I sat.

But that's all right--he gets that way
and so I give him Oreos;
he is my guard for cookie pay
insuring that the door is closed.

He blocks the breeze with belly fill.
He slithers 'round the jamb in stealth;
both low and long he wards the chill
and uses Cobra for his health.

He is the scaly scamp of old
afoot to his own shed-skin fleet;
but he can chase that cutting cold
despite the lack of any feet.

One night when he was on the job
there came a rattle at the door;
he coiled upon the brassy knob
and flared a crooked fang once more.

I quickly said, “The night is young,
that's just temptation on the eve;”
and so he forked his long red tongue
to make that cold desire leave.

Sometimes he's longer than the night
to sneak around my humble house;
and once it was computer light
because he went and ate my mouse.

Yet overall he knows his place,
and from the bottom does he lie;
the urge of serpent in his face,
a cunning twinkle in his eye.

[Rhythm: 8] (Lines: 40)

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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1734883