Few things are keener than the scent of skunk,
can bore in deeper than a cobbler's awl,
can fly up nose and sinus with the thunk
of razor-tipped long arrow - bow and all.
But I exaggerate a little bit.
I spit no blood. There's none to taste or see.
Nor should I overlook the benefit
to me of rambling skunks' odd bonhomie.
They amble lawn and leafy wood at dawn
digging up wasps' nests, buried here and there,
and empty them of pests they feast upon.
Neighborly, what? - And with what savoir faire!
And though we can't agree what's good to eat
I'm more than glad to say, "Bon appétit!"
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