My Feud

 I hate my neighbour Widow Green;
 I'd like to claw her face;
But if I did she'd make a scene
 And run me round the place:
For widows are in way of spleen
 A most pugnacious race.

And yet I must do something quick
 To keep the hag in line,
Since her red rooster chose to pick
 Five lettuce heads of mine:
And so I fed it arsenic
 Which it did not decline.

It disappeared, but on my mat
 Before a week had sped
I found Mi-mi, my tabby cat
 And it was stoney dead;
I diagnosed with weeping that
 On strychnine it had fed.

And so I bought a hamburg steak,
 Primed it with powdered glass,
And left it for her dog to take
 With gulping from the grass:
Since then, although I lie awake
 I have not seen it pass.

Well, that's the scoring up to date:
 And as I read a text
From Job to justify my hate
 I wonder who'll be next?
Somehow I feel that one must die,
 Ma Green or I.

Form: Light Verse

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