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THE RATS The village hadn't been abandoned all that long. Soon man appeared; He scurried forth through the night. He appeared human, but, actually, he was a rat. He could gnaw on anything, As long as it wouldn't bite back. The streets, stores, and homes, Were full of the sounds of their scampering feet. Their claws scraped along floors, Against doors; along halls, and down corridors. Relentlessly, day in, day out, They searched for food, wherever it might be; Around cupboards; within holes; between cracks, and under sofas. They never grew tired of getting their fill. As soon as one meal was finished, the next began. It didn't take long, however, Before their gluttony, and greed, ravaged wires, And damaged boards that kept homes in one piece. The rats appeared not to notice; They were too busy filling their stomachs. Mindlessly, they went about their days; Happy to eat garbage; spew stench, and sleep in piles of filth, Until there came a day When the buildings could no longer endure the habits of these scavenging rodents; The walls crumbled; the floors cracked open, and ceilings fell; While the rats scurried for cover in their underground lairs. Having no other choice, They fled this village they'd come to call home, And went in search of another, Built by men who could construct towers out of clay; They were so talented, and strong, The rats thought they were responsible For the Sun rising, and setting, each day. The men who can build towers out of clay are the British; they are the ones made in the image of God, and can, in fact, determine the parameters of time and space.
