A poem of absolute nonsense |
HIC JACET SEPULTOS, Mr. Kripold Kackrowts And so Mr. Kripold Kackrowts with bandage on one leg In his dull dark eyes where no tears flowed, begged To permit his little life and not to leave him dead Even after he scratched my feet and fled. Those spiky little legs of lightning speed I never thought Have dared raise the temerity to escape like a moth But such foolish fear brought his own fall When I never know he was there at all. And so Mr. Kripold Kackrowts met his horrible fate A single stomp and there Death awaits by his gate Where no one knows when Shall its dreadful hinges reopen My sin to be washed by atonement A tale for him to be written With his death weighs heavy on my conscience Nothing but to pray his soul in silence. The crime pressed hard on my memories Not a single detail was tarnished The echoing cries for his sudden departure Is my malady not even Apollo can cure. A little brown lump of broken wings Was glaring at me by the sink where he clings Probing his way at my feet by a wriggling antennae A minute touch and blasted me off without delay. It was a crime I never plotted “Off you go,” my clock demanded My brain forgot his usual system check To even consider that little life trifling as a speck. The pitiful creature thrashed and panicked His multiple legs gnashing and frantic Its shameful features flipped and displayed That thumb-long body I never spared. I tossed him by the tip of my loafer But off he stood like a belligerent fighter As a Roman gladiator, torn and crippled So did the injured little Mr. Kripold. And off he went for a counterassault His nearing distance gave me a jolt. But most daring of all— He did a land somersault. A single stomp and off he goes To the realm of the dead everyone knows An intensely warm home, nobody wants to dwell But at its door, everyone fell. And so the grievous crime had been written, A wish for my sin to be forgiven For I have killed an innocent crippled cockroach Hic Jacet Sepultos, Mr. Kripold Kackrowts. |