Fleas - With Apologies To Joyce Kilmer

I think that I shall never see a beast as loathsome as a flea. A flea whose hungry mouth consumes all the blood that it exhumes. A flea that gets into my hair and makes me scratch 'til I am bare. A flea that makes me itch all day and irritates in every way. Upon whose head curses we rain; whose biting we have scratched in vain. Poems are made by fools like me, but God should not have made the flea.