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Ambrose Bierce - The Valley Of Dry Bones
Work rating: Medium

With crow bones all the land is white,
From the gates of morn to the gates of night.
Picked clean, they lie on the cumbered ground,
And the politician`s paunch is round;
And he strokes it down and across as he sings:
"I`ve eaten my fill of the legs and wings,
The neck, the back, the pontifical nose,
Breast, belly and gizzard, for everything goes.
The meat that`s dark (and there`s none that`s white)
Exceeded the need of my appetite,
But I`ve bravely stuck to the needful work
That a hungry domestic hog would shirk.
I`ve eaten the fowl that the Fates commend
To reluctant lips of the People`s Friend.
Rank unspeakably, bitter as gall,
Is the bird, but I`ve eaten it, feathers and all.
I`m a dutiful statesman, I am, although
I really don`t like a diet of crow.
So I`ve dined all alone in a furtive way,
But my platter I`ve cleaned every blessed day.
They say that I bolt; so I do—my bird;
They say that I sulk, but they`ve widely erred!
O Lord! if my enemies only knew
How I`m full to the throat with the corvic stew
They`d open their ears to hear me profess
The faith compelled by the corvic stress,
(For, alas! necessity knows no law)
In the heavenly caucus—`Caw! Caw! Caw!`"


And that ornithanthropical person tried
By flapping his arms on the air to ride;
But I knew by the way that he clacked his bill
He was just the poor, featherless biped, Dave Hill.
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