A sonnet in near rhyme

The Pathetic Fallacy Mitigated
(An exercise in near-rhyme)
 
To liken buying blue-chip stocks
To squirrels hoarding nuts is bosh,
As wrong as claiming dogs can blush
Or offer paws for love, not snacks.
 
 
Admitted, songs a rooster pecks                                          
On keys are not for muse but mash,                                          
That trills emitted by a thrush
Aren’t made with Disney-puckered beaks
 
 
No, beasts and I are not alike,                                          
But still it’s no quixotic quirk                                        
To see a striving there and say
I’m glad they share with us this ark –
 
This leaky ark that seems to tack
Across a vast and lonely sea.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
              10
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
                                                                       7
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
The Pathetic Fallacy Mitigated
(An exercise in near-rhyme)
 
To liken buying blue-chip stocks
To squirrels hoarding nuts is bosh,
As wrong as claiming dogs can blush
Or offer paws for love, not snacks.
 
 
Admitted, songs a rooster pecks                                          
On keys are not for muse but mash,                                          
That trills emitted by a thrush
Aren’t made with Disney-puckered beaks
 
 
No, beasts and I are not alike,                                          
But still it’s no quixotic quirk                                        
To see a striving there and say
I’m glad they share with us this ark –
 
This leaky ark that seems to tack
Across a vast and lonely sea.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
              10
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
                                                                       7
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
The Pathetic Fallacy Revisited
 
I’ve seen near shore a sycophantic gull,
A cautious waiter at an osprey’s feast;
I’ve seen his cohorts find the beach too dull,
Their interest in the dumpsters much increased.
 
I’ve seen officious buzzards, robed in sable,
Convened pro tem at sudden death’s fruition,
A flattened armadillo as their table,
As well as corpus for their disquisition.
 
I’ve seen a gang of starlings raid a nest,
Then flee from those who’d loved the shattered egg;
I’ve seen them foul a copper hero’s crest,
And peck their brother who’d lost a leg . . .
 
And, Wordsworth, I must say with some despair
That I, like you, can see there’s pleasure there.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
7

(1998)

Republished with permission of 'RE:AL," Vol. 21

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