Blight

I heard a twee-twee late last night –
I thought it was a mouse –
but when I searched throughout the house,
it turned out to be Blight.

Blight appears to want to speak
whenever he comes by:
he stares and squats and tries to cry:
can only pip a squeak.

Despite the omen of his name
I’ve learned not to be scared.
No plague or destitution’s flared
beyond his visit. Blame

can’t be assigned to him at all
as far as I can tell.
He yearns to cast a fateful spell –
can’t cast the merest pall.

I feel a trifle sad for him –
he’d like to have some clout,
but cannot work the damned thing out:
Blight’s light is far too dim.

With Blight’s lack of temerity,
and tendency to mope,
I guess we’ll have to learn to cope
with pitiless prosperity.


 
 
 
 
 
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