Death of a Cockroach
I opened wide the bath—room door,
And all at once switched on the light,
When moving swift across the floor
I saw a streak of ebon bright:
Then quick, with slipper in my hand,
Before it could escape,—I slammed.
I missed it once, I missed it twice,
But got it ere it gained its lair.
I fear my words were far from nice,
Though d——s with me are rather rare:
Then lo! I thought that dying roach
Regarded me with some reproach.
Said I: “Don’t think I grudge you breath;
I hate to spill your greenish gore,
But why did you invite your death
By straying on my bath—room floor?”
“It is because,” said he (or she),
“Adventure is my destiny.
”By evolution I was planned,
And marvellously made as you;
And I am led to understand
The selfsame God conceived us two:
Sire, though the coup de grâce you give,
Even a roach has right to live."
Said I: "Of course you have a right,—
But not to blot my bath—room floor.
Yet though with slipper I may smite,
Your doom I morally deplore . . .
From cellar gloom to stellar space
Let bards and beetles have their place.
Other works by Robert W. Service...
