Today I finished reading a book of poems by Billy Collins (former U.S. Poet Laureate): Picnic, Lightening. Collins is a great poet. He writes about the stuff of life . . . like having breakfast, listening to the children's song "Three Blind Mice", or gazing at a snowfall. His short poem, "Splitting Wood" inspired me to write my own verse about cutting beaver-chewed wood at my house.
O Billy, My Billy, you write your verse so well.
Your words are tight, your meter flows,
And your bald head's rather swell.
O Billy, My Billy, come split some wood with me.
The rats are back, they've got big teeth,
And they're chewing down my tree.
O some may say I'm weary, and others claim I'm mean,
But these beavers chew more of my wood
Than any rodents I have seen!
They chew a tree at midnight, and more wood as dawn nears,
But if I get my teeth on them
I'll kill the *^#@*&#! (no tears!)
O Billy, My Billy, let's see you write some verse
About a man who strangles rats
And turns their pelts to purse.
O Billy, My Billy, a beaver's blood is red,
And when I get my .22
Those *$#&^*! will be dead! (1)
(1) with apologies to Walt Whitman
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