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A weasel through a hole contrived to squeeze,
(She was recovering from disease,)
Which led her to a farmer's hoard.
There lodged, her wasted form she cherish'd;
Heaven knows the lard and victuals stored
That by her gnawing perish'd!
Of which the consequence
Was sudden corpulence.
A week or so was past,
When having fully broken fast.
A noise she heard, and hurried
To find the hole by which she came,
And seem'd to find it not the same;
So round she ran, most sadly flurried;
And, coming back, thrust out her head,
Which, sticking there, she said,
'This is the hole, there can't be blunder:
What makes it now so small, I wonder,
Where, but the other day, I pass'd with ease?'
A rat her trouble sees,
And cries, 'But with an emptier belly;
You enter'd lean, and lean must sally.'
What I have said to you
Has eke been said to not a few,
Who, in a vast variety of cases,[2]
Have ventured into such-like places.
The Weasel In The Granary
Jean De La Fontaine
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Poem topics: heaven, head, fast, small, broken, noise, perish, trouble, Valentine's Day, cherish, I love you, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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