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Suburban tragedy, suburban ambivalence

Each spring I feel a tinge of grief when magnolia buds appear.
For I never see the glorious display I yearn for every year.
I might see a hint of pink withstanding every storm
But the elaborate blooms I see next door on my tree are still- born.

I know who is responsible, a possum small and shy,
I feed him in the vain hope that he will my tree pass by,
Although my ploy has never worked I keep it up from habit
And I never In my wildest dreams would take my knife and stab it!

I met him one night on the fence; he froze upon his feet
What right had I to stand right there when he was passing on his beat?
In all the years I've felt the need to leave him something yummy,
He never speaks and never looks, just puts it in his tummy.

From today at start of spring my blooms may have a chance,
I saw some fur upon the lawn and from my window looked askance,
Oh what awful savagery has happened in my tame garden?
I must go outside and know the truth, my feelings I must harden!

Yes, torn and ripped my possum lies all spread out on the grass
His stomach, full is tossed aside, no use to he who broke his fast
Looking up, a butcher bird with innocent expression
Too small is he to do this deed but will not say no to its digestion!

Minutes on I saw a large black crow alighting on the scene
Pulling apart from near the heart the meat that had once been
Little ring tail quiet and shy, no personality to speak of
But meant the world to his family who now can only think of.........