|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)