black speck appeared on my arm. A brand new mole, I surmised. But moles don't
move, and moles don't hop, I stared in surprise.
I paid it
no mind, as I sat down to dine, I am now ashamed to relate. But that 'mole' of charm, jumped off my arm, and
hopped right into my plate.
I am telling you now, no bugs in my food, it makes my
stomach, flip-flop. But I'm telling you true, this thing was new, as across the
table it hopped.
About the same time, and way out of line, I felt a prick on my neck. Then one on my
nose, another on my toes. I was covered with little black specks.
I began to itch. My nerves did twitch, as I plucked off the 'moles' from me. I am
not a cur, and I don't have fur, but I was simply 'crawling' with
My floor did bounce, with drams of an ounce, of these
friendly little fellers. There is not much I fear, but I'm telling you here,
These things turned my back side yeller.
I am clean as a pin, so can't figure when, or where I picked up this curse. This was all I assumed as I
moved from the room, but found that every where else was worse.
The fleas they danced, and every where pranced, and knew no shame where they
lit. They bit me here, and itched me there, as over my body they flit.
I tore off my shirt, and stomped the dirt, and swept my britches down. I twisted
and turned, no shame did I burn, as I danced like a crazy clown.
I have suffered much, and burned my touch, and spent hours in agony. But I have
never known, the indignity shown, from the itch of a 'gole-dern'
"Little flea, I say, when you come to 'play' I
wouldn't mind if you came alone. But the next time, my friend, when you come again, leave all of your relatives home."
Flea Friends Story and Poem Author © Wynell Tate Davis