OWED TO A ROACH

O, Thou, who thru the sink doth blithely go; (O, Little Roach, how could you sink so low?) Who pipeth all your kin from kitchens near Wherever crumbs of comfort may appear; Who layeth siege, in mural cracks or trenches, Where grease spots lure or rampant be the stenches; Who hideth in the dough when bread is rising,— I ask you to a Feast, of my devising,— To eat these powders, 'round the plumbing placed, Until your glutted carcass be effaced. O, Little Roach, if you would selfish be And not "ring in" your whole fool family, We'd tolerate you: nay, a pet would make you If you'd not scamper all our pie and cake thru!