truth

A Glorious Persual, Fit the Second

In which the Possum Dreams.

He dreamed deeply of eidolons, phantasms grim, And bufonidae clad in dark cloaks. He stood in a hall, all murky dim, And to him an anurus spoke.

It was a dark tale of curses and wars, Death coming at untimely times. The tale meandered on and o’er foreign shores Where toad heroes and gods did their crimes.

When finally a point with a point to be made, The warty brown speaker achieved Concisely the slumbering possum he bade On a perilous journey to leave.

He woke the next morn, his fur wet with dew, And with some salt fish broke his fast Then recalled with a start and couldn’t eschew Night’s delusions and what they forecast.

For rarely a possum’s a doer of deeds For those who can ribbit or croak, Just as ne’er will you see out pecking at seeds A man while the chickens all smoke.