A Night Marauder

He sat on his wide veranda,

     In the summer evening long;

He was lulled to a half-way slumber

     By the tree-toads’ soothing song,

When out of the nearby darkness

     A form moved to where he sat,

Intent on his life-blood shedding,

     With the stealth of a preying cat.

On the throat of his sleeping victim

     He fastened his vise-like grasp,

While his sharp-edged knife was driven

     Like a flash to its very hasp.

From his dreams he wildly started,

     Swung his hand with a loud “ker-whack”,

And a vicious and bad mosquito

     Fell dead in his gory track.

June 29, ‘06

                   Sent Puck July 7, ‘06