Black Beetles in Amber

by Ambrose Bierce

A PATTER SONG

A PATTER SONG

There was a cranky Governor--
His name it wasn't Waterman.
For office he was hotter than
The love of any lover, nor
Was Boruck's threat of aiding him
Effective in dissuading him--
This pig-headed, big-headed, singularly self-conceited Governor Nonwaterman.

To citrus fairs, _et cætera_,
He went about philandering,
To pride of parish pandering.
He knew not any better--ah,
His early education had
Not taught the abnegation fad--
The wool-witted, bull-witted, fabulously feeble-minded king of gabble-gandering!

He conjured up, _ad libitum_,
With postures energetical,
One day (this is prophetical)
His graces, to exhibit 'em.
He straddled in each attitude,
Four parallels of latitude--
The slab-footed, crab-footed, galloping gregarian, of presence unæsthetical!
An ancient cow, perceiving that
His powers of agility
Transcended her ability
(A circumstance for grieving at)
Upon her horns engrafted him
And to the welkin wafted him--
The high-rolling, sky-rolling, hurtling hallelujah-lad of peerless volatility!