The keys have been in my hand for
Twenty-four years. I have fed them,
Found them, and plotted to condemn
The menagerie at full score.
First to go are the birds, of this
I am definitely sure, yes.
Always clucking in their excess,
Feathered ladies with their soft hiss.
The bears, with stares, do not contend
With care to win my wand’ring heart.
With fur and hurry their black art
Consists in luring the next friend.
And the lions, oh, they scare me.
Gods of the field, they dare me, too.
Divine manes, and oh, how they chew!
Yes, the lions must go, go free.
The snakes are my eternal fear;
I do not trust any beast with
Undulatory notions, myth,
Or storied potions to draw near.
And these beasts—each and every
Last one of them—must go, because
They have murdered my heart. Applause
Befall the flaming reverie!