Ode to a Toad

In vacuous silence there comes a ribit
From one who was never a flibbertigibbet.
Though swarms of flies infest his pit
And maggots grovel in his shit
Such wonders these are thus bestowed
Upon a man no more a toad
For though his living's ever cheaper
And his cesspool's seeping deeper
Where putrid rankness has a smell
That rivals all the caves in hell
At least he's never been a slob.
It's hard enough to be a blob.
And this I know from being hence
As black crows claw a cyclone fence
I'm happy sitting in my pew,
So very far away from you
As lie you there in still content
Your eyes are closed, your life is spent
I had to see you one more time.
As the mortician ends your rhyme.

© 2003 David I. Brager
Inspired by the end of an era,
the end of a friendship that ended in error.