James Walter Orr
The weasels run, a mighty herd
Of charging little beasts.
They're waiting on King Weasel
To call them to their feast.
King weasel rubs his bristly chin,
Intending to deceive;
The weasel crowd bends to its knee,
Determined to believe.
The weasels, like the red brigade,
Will cleanse all other thought;
The land will run with bloodshed
From heretics they have caught.
The weasels run the country,
Storming homes and totally crazed;
We cattle lie and chew our cud:
A few look on amazed.
The weasels run the hillsides,
But the valleys run with blood.
The weasels run with glaring eyes;
The cattle chew their cud.
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Comments about this poem (Weasel Infestation by James Walter Orr )
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(13 September 1916 – 23 November 1990)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
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