Rat in funk hole

Between the acting of a fearful thing and the first motion, all the interim is like a phantasma... Shakespeare

This fat and sated rat now crouched behind my hat
Of tin will soon be dead from gas - for gas shall come to pass
This misty eve of rain drenched mud
Too wet for war and vermin, for he has no mask
To don when he smells the power of the poison gas.

This rat shall turn up his ratty toes at once
And his corpse shall lie perhaps for almost ever
In the muddy rain, or lie at least until this dirty business
Has disappeared below the decorated fields
Of poppies all nodding sagely in the sunny morning breeze.

And so farewell dear rat now crouched behind my hat
Of tin, for the time has come to don my mask
This misty eve of rain drenched mud
Too wet for war and vermin; for you have no mask
To don when you smell the power of the poison gas.

-
gw2010