Warning: Some bad *** language.*
There's a rabbit in my garden,
Just like in nursury books,
This little *******'s not Peter,
He hasn't Peter's looks.
I admit the ***** looks cute,
But he's not wearing Peter's suit.
This little *******'s wearing fur,
The ******* critter's hunching,
The *******'s munching
On all my sweaty work.
My cat's hardly a terrorist,
His name's not Benjamin,
The lazy **** lies in the sun,
His shadow moves more than him.
I could lure him in,
Use arrow and a bow,
Catch and skin
The little ****,
To fashion my scarecrow.
I lined the **** in crosshairs,
He lifts and sniffs the air,
As if he sensed a certain fear
Impending doom was near.
I thus approached,
We both stood there,
There's something about him
We both shared,
As if we were a pair.
I did the same,
When I was young,
I thought the world
Was mine for free,
And gathered all my oysters.
His innocence
Wasn't lost on me.
Hold on,
This tale's not quite done.
The oyster ******'s still in my garden.
The **** can live,
But must stay out,
I spread blood meal about.
And gathered all my oysters
Apologies to Beatrix Potter.
Bloodmeal: a good alternative to keeping the varmits out.