To the creepy, crawly swine
A bug with the long feet.
Who marched about like tall ants,
And roamed about vicariously.
At midnight, it crawled conspicuously
Through narrow dark hallways of life,
And across our old wooden floors.
Whose spirit was slain to death by me unexpectedly
On the stairwell to recovery.
Quietly it lies, rested, quiet and still
On a mid-November night,
Known to roam and covet all food and everything in sight
And now the ratchet pest is slain to rest
In a decedent home for disgusting insects.
And on its grave amongst the trash,
It’s grave read ‘A shrine for the Envied’.
On its journey to a stairwell to Heaven.