A SONNET ON SPRINGFIELD’S HAITIANS
Beneath the moon, a gruesome feast they hold,
Those dusky Haitians, their hunger set loose.
Their plates are piled with dishes both hot and cold,
Beloved cats and dogs plus the occasional goose.
With gusto they devour the delicious flesh.
Their laughter echoes through the frightful wood,
A macabre scene, a ghastly, gruesome mess,
Where appetites for furry pets are fueled.
Their eyes widened with feral, savage lust,
As they tear and gnaw with ferocious glee.
The forest trembles at what is feared most,
A monstrous horde, a twisted company.
And so they feast, ’til their hunger’s sated,
Those heinous Haitians, so rightly hated.