"There's not such a thing as opossums gallant,
And ne'er have ever there been."
A foolhardy rooster shouted in taunt,
'Fore he was he was struck by a gage to the
chin.
He unsheathed his sword with vainglorious swish
Angered and looking for blood
But possums are quick (for they like to eat
fish,
and 'tis trices 'tween, herring and mud.)
'Fore the blade had fair chance to glint in the
sun,
(As any good blade ought to do)
The possum struck out, and the battle was won,
The rooster cleft cleanly in two.
The possum, a creature of constant account,
Knelt down by the pieces and prayed
Spoke some worth words for the larger amount
And respects to the smaller half paid.
He wiped off the blood from his well-whetted
steel
And sheathed the good weapon with care,
And took up his satchel and took to his heel
All doers of bad best beware!
And he set off along the long weary road,
Trekking through forests and fields,
And soon did he meet and inglorious toad
whom he dispatched with a bash of his shield.
And there by the river he stopped for a drink,
His thoughts of the noblest of things,
When 'round from behind came a croak and a
stink,
and up rose a spectre with wings.
The opossum, surprised, looked down at the
wraith
For ne'er had he seen such before
For always the things that he chose to slayeth
Had stay where they laid on the floor.
The ghost did begin to glow from within,
While the opossum's confusion increased.
A sudden lum'nation did flash quick as sin,
And again was the toad quite deceased.
Still dazzled and dazed, the opossum looked
round,
Seeing that all was in place,
Then lay down to rest on the riverside ground
Succumbing to sleep's warm embrace.
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