Songs of the Soused

This bee, this venerable possum, and this snail
Were my Christmas guests. We wore bright paper hats
And the smiles one tries when conversations fail.
The possum sang a song all sharps and flats
The bee did wing flaps humming this and thats.
The snail shelled out for sherry and was able
To drink the possum underneath the table.
The bee and I, bemused that we had learned
That possums playing dead was not a fable,
Sang lachrymosely while the pudding burned.

2 thoughts on “Songs of the Soused

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