A low roar fills the land,
Followed by the drifting of sand.
Footsteps resound with bold purpose,
No quieter than a chatty porpoise.
Soon he comes into the room,
Scanning with eyes that say sudden doom.
Slowly walking over he gives me that look,
Which feels like being caught by a hook.
He then roars right into my face,
So high pitched it has no base.
Quickly he turns and beckons to follow,
Oh how I wish he'd just let me wallow.
We then arrive at the purpose of his summons,
And boy was it worse than rotten persimmons.
It was a snake of the most vile in variety,
His litter box was full; oh the anxiety.
Let this be known to all you who have one,
listen for the snacks for the sooner you'll be done.
About the Creator
Toby Heward
Creativity is boundless. We are gardeners that bring forth these fruits of wonder. Nature is my passion and I love to help readers see the stories with their own eyes through my works. Whether its poems, fact, or fiction I bring it to life.
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