Of putrid death beguiling me.
Be gone! O blemished devil’s bat!
You vex me perched upon my lap.
Such ugly gait and sticky bait,
Of bile produced from concentrate;
Beyond my intellectual conception
That your existence has some meaningful intention.
With filthy wings you take to sky,
And leave your stain upon my thigh;
Twas it winged gods on high,
That made something so awful fly?
O but menace, do your worst!
Quite cunning in your fur so coarse.
I hate you, Ai!
My pecan pie!
Ill eyes behold your newest sty;
Infection of a dear confection,
Destroyer of my grand perfection!
O how I loathe proximity
To this grotesque