Possum
While walking down the road one day,
I met a possum on my way.
It looked up at me, eyes so blank,
Void of knowledge, dim and dank.
Its fur was dirty grayish-brown,
Wet and matted on the ground.
Its tail, laid out, looked like a worm,
But did not move, no, would not squirm.
Its legs so stiff, they would not bend,
They would not run, would not defend.
Its mouth agape in silent scream,
As if in horrid, dreadful dream.
Blood had pooled around its waist,
Its guts, strewn out, had turned to paste.
A dreadful smell from it, quite bold,
It had been dead for time untold.
So in fascinated awe, I stood,
And watched the maggots do some good.
In morbid thought and evil sway,
I watched the rotting corpse decay.
And composed a poem of dreadful rhyme,
Quite strange and twisted, in my mind.
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-nicky