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Published 3 May 2022, 12:57AM
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Below the reeking surface of the swamp
In the deep murky dark, near to the mud
The catfish waits for a morsel to chomp
Adorned with large whiskers, cold is his blood
The catfish’s meal is not like the rest
He eats no lavish Wagu or Fois Gras
Dung and Decay he believes is the best
Whatever he finds, he puts in his maw.
Many find this poor creature to be foul
His strange appetite is dirty and crass
They react to his face with a deep scowl
But the catfish completes a thankless task
What would the world be if the dung piled up?
Would you want to be the one to cleanup?
thx for visiting