Disease

Disease is spreading quickly through the land,
Among the addled women in the dark,
Through rodents dwelling bleakly in the park,
Amidst the smaller cats and dogs on hand
And seagulls beckoning along the sand.
What's needed, clearly, is some sort of ark
To save us all. We'll watch the happy shark
Displaying his bright smile. We are unmanned.

Disease has cheered the Devil, who runs past
Exclaiming grandly that he sleeps with fleas
And eats no vegetables except green peas,
Implying that his health is fading fast.
Indeed, he looks as if he had been gassed,
Though we alone are feeling ill at ease.