Oh Centipede, thou prideful breed,
What might thy smugness bring?
Thy knees exceed the pair I need
To kneel before the King.
Poor Centipede, what law decreed
In darkness thou must seek?
With lightning speed thou doest recede
For fear I’ll catch a peek.
Why, Centipede, must thou mislead
And tempt good men astray?
My heart doth bleed when ye succeed
In luring them away.
Vile Centipede, dare not impede
My daily Christian walk—
Lest I indeed might find the need
To smash ye with a rock.
Elegantly crafted. If poetry grew on the vine,then this would be classed as ” Grand Cru.”
Hiya, Louis. Thank you again for the kind words (would you believe I had to look up “Grand Cru?”)