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.
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