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VENGEANCE

By Walter Wheatley

Dark and dreary was the night,
A storm was drawing nigh,
In vivid streaks the lightning flashed,
Athwart the leaden sky.
But see, from out the lonely woods
There stands a vengeful man,
A bloodstained club is firmly grasped
Within his strong right hand.
Like a spectre from the unknown world
He glides upon his foe,
A murderous look gleams in his eye
As he readies for the blow.
The club is raised-and then, alas,
It falls with a sickening thud,
And there upon the dark, cold ground
Lies murdered ... a potato bug.

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15y ago

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