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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Rat Catcher I feel repulsed when he is near, I ought to have compassion for this cripple, a twisted foot. an arm that does not function as it should a beggar with scabby skin, eyes as black as looking into the dark side of the wishing moon this is not a man you can be kind to, the more you give him the more he hats you and wishes you an early death. His diversion is to follow funeral processions, but not into the cemetery, no one wants him there I have wondered why I dislike this cripple so much it must be a memory of my childhood After the war in Norway, there was hunger in the land but I noticed the children, the children of the well-to-do those who in later years suited men in politics often threw away lunch boxes that their maid had packed something they didn't like There were many rats in the waste bin, so I had to be quick before the rats found the food, one rat jumped up and tried to take the lunch I held in my hand The rat's eyes shone with loathing, it hated me for being human, like the cripple who hates normal people too and blame them for his hardship In the knowledge he will hate me more, I give him a few shillings when I see him, this dirty little man who forsaken by his mother after he tried to sleep with her. I fear him too, four black horses, clicking hoofs on a pebbled road and he is the only mourner.
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