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.
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