Shapes of Clay

A rat who'd gorged a box of bane

And suffered an internal pain,

Came from his hole to die (the label

Required it if the rat were able)

And found outside his habitat

A limpid stream. Of bane and rat

'T was all unconscious; in the sun

It ran and prattled just for fun.

Keen to allay his inward throes,

The beast immersed his filthy nose

And drank—then, bloated by the stream,

And filled with superheated steam,

Exploded with a rascal smell,

Remarking, as his fragments fell

Astonished in the brook: "I'm thinking

This water's damned unwholesome drinking!"