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Melancholies


Few sadder things you'll ever see:
an imprisoned dove who can't get free;
poor, outcast kids who won't go home;
a man and wife who dine alone;
wee baby's cry with no one near;
life giving words she will not hear;
her heart closed tight with love in sight;
the forlorn face once their first fight.

The saddest sight for any bird,
a Canadian gander heard
one sportsman's shot across his world,
saw his mate for life, lifeless hurled
to the earth she could never leave;
and to what end he now must grieve?
Bloody fine job. Nice shot, old boy!
Pity man with his deadly toy!

No sadder union I know of,
the Black Widow Spider's show of
her parlor, its bedroom beside
to provide her lover's short ride.
His gene pool's soaring last action,
for a second and a fraction...
too late his adieu, he's the stew
a la carte, entree de menu!

The saddest natural event,
a kingly old elk on the scent,
estrus engaging attention;
surprised, no matter his dimension,
from another, he must win the prize!
The ursurper soon has her eyes,
old stag--now, has-been til he dies,
his libido, no more shall rise.

The saddest thing of all, I fear,
is the old man beyond his year
certain, it's his fate to endear
any female that he comes near.
For him it's hard to surrender
the idea, the other gender
is confused and amused at him,
his chances, 'tween zero and slim.


--H. Arlequin

 

 

 

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copyright 1997, The Goober Tree Press, all rights reserved