UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO LINKS
The smallest mammal of our clime
weighs in at less than one thin dime.
How like the brightheart of a shrew,
battering, my Love, are you,
the which has known in parlous heat
death by the violence of its beat.
A shrew must, foraging its fate,
consume each day its body's weight
and rage rapacious through each night.
It too secretes a venomed bite.
Sweet savage fever, to adore,
insatiable, an omnivore,
for should chance have two shrews confined,
they must become one of a kind
and I don't mind.
And I don't mind.
Richard Outram's works copyright © to The Estate of the Author.