Hawkman
09-05-2012, 06:42 PM
Caractacus was a corpulent cat,
he’d a brother called Cadwallader,
the pair of them had grown quite fat
on a diet of mice and fallow deer.
The first of the two had orange stripes,
the other was rather beige,
but lately the pair had cause to gripe
for they’d fasted for an age;
where were the mices, where the gazelles,
the rodents had ceased their squeaking,
leaving our pussycats not quite themselves
and weakened when woken from sleeping.
Pelts that before had been glossy and sleek,
now looked like moth-eaten rag,
their mangy and threadbare appearance was bleak,
they’d gaze on each other and gag.
For felines who bore two such regal names,
with bloodlines both noble and long,
their current predicament put them to shame
and lamely they’d sing this song:
Oh give me to eat of the flesh of the hind,
provide me with meals to spare;
and I will grow sleepy and learn to be kind
when biting the head off a hare.
Savannah and jungle are all one to me
when teeming with game to be hunted,
this dearth on my plate for both dinner and tea
is leaving my growth quite stunted.
So, gods of the chase, lend an ear to appeal
do send me a wildebeest, do -
and if you won’t do it I’ll call you a heel,
perhaps, then, you’ll send a gnu.
But deaf to entreaties the deities laughed
and famine continued its hold,
our fat cats grew thinner and wasted and starved—
then died, without growing old.
he’d a brother called Cadwallader,
the pair of them had grown quite fat
on a diet of mice and fallow deer.
The first of the two had orange stripes,
the other was rather beige,
but lately the pair had cause to gripe
for they’d fasted for an age;
where were the mices, where the gazelles,
the rodents had ceased their squeaking,
leaving our pussycats not quite themselves
and weakened when woken from sleeping.
Pelts that before had been glossy and sleek,
now looked like moth-eaten rag,
their mangy and threadbare appearance was bleak,
they’d gaze on each other and gag.
For felines who bore two such regal names,
with bloodlines both noble and long,
their current predicament put them to shame
and lamely they’d sing this song:
Oh give me to eat of the flesh of the hind,
provide me with meals to spare;
and I will grow sleepy and learn to be kind
when biting the head off a hare.
Savannah and jungle are all one to me
when teeming with game to be hunted,
this dearth on my plate for both dinner and tea
is leaving my growth quite stunted.
So, gods of the chase, lend an ear to appeal
do send me a wildebeest, do -
and if you won’t do it I’ll call you a heel,
perhaps, then, you’ll send a gnu.
But deaf to entreaties the deities laughed
and famine continued its hold,
our fat cats grew thinner and wasted and starved—
then died, without growing old.