Comments about Bill Clayton
A young snake slithered up to his dad,
To ask a question that bothered the lad.
"I've often wondered what sort we are
You know - what kind of snake.
Do we wrap ourselves round people,
Till their bones begin to break?
Do we not stop, till their eyes go pop,
Or do we just scare them to death,
Do we swallow them whole
Or just grab a hold
Till we squeeze out all their breath?
Are we the sort of stripey kind
That blend in with the trees,
Or the slimey, slippy greasy lot
That brings them to their knees?
Or dad, are we them ...