Death Of Black Bat Poem by Kevin Moss

Twas a close hot summers night,
toward the middle of July,
whilst out on a midnight flight,
I met Baldrock the Dragonfly.

We rested on the branch of a Maple tree,
to tell stories of ages gone.
Unfortunately we could not agree,
which tale was the tallest one.

Just then we were joined by a Firefly,
by the name of Peepodissy.
He explained as, he new not how to lie,
we'd believe the tale of the Mighty Flea.

His story began neath the base of a tree,
it was owned by Shakira the Shrew.
There was born a tiny wee Flea,
that grew and grew and grew.

The day he was born he tripled in size,
to that of a small pin head.
He picked on an Owl that wasn't to wise,
and spun him til he was dead.

Thus was born the legend of Mac the Mighty Flea,
his name spread from Garnibrook Wood,
to the edge of the Briney Sea.
No one tried to defeat him, not a creature could.

Of course I questioned the Firefly's story,
to show me the Owl's resting place.
Peepodissy expressed his great fury,
by yelling profanity into my face.

How dare you call him a liar Black Bat,
from a rock Mighty Mac did shout.
Quick as a flash on my tongue he was sat,
then pulled me inside out.


(08/02/12)