To a Snake by Edna St. Vincent Millay — Read

Poor dying thing; it was m y dog, not I, / That did for you. I gave you a wide arc, and moved to pass.

And yet, I was not sad that you should die;

You jarred me so; you were too motionless

And sudden, coiled there in the grass.

Now, you are coiled no longer. Now

Your splendid, streaked back is to the ground.

Your beautiful, light-scarlet blood is spattered, / And shines in dreadful dew-drops all around.

And that white, ugly belly you had not confessed,- So naked, so unscrolled with patterns-is at last exposed.

Oh-oh- I do not like to see

A fellow-mortal's final agony! We shared this world all summer until now!

Now,-of f you go.

All upside-down you lie, less looped than flung. And all but done for.

And yet,-with head still raised; and that red, flickering tongue.