не пой, красавица, при мне

Theodore Roethke

There was a Serpent who had to sing.
There was. There was.
He simply gave up Serpenting.
Because. Because.

He didn't like his Kind of Life;
He couldn't find a proper Wife;
He was a Serpent with a soul;
He got no Pleasure down his Hole.
And so, of course, he had to Sing,
And Sing he did like Anything!
The Birds, they were, they were Astounded;
And various Measures Propounded
To stop the Serpent's Awful Racket;
They bought a Drum. He wouldn't Whack it.
They sent, - you always send, - to Cuba
And got a Most Commodious Tuba;
They got a Horn, they got a Flute,
But nothing would suit.
He said, "Look, Birds, all this is futile:
I do not like to Bang or Tootle".
And then he cut loose with a Horrible Note
That practically split the Top of his Throat.
"You see", he said, with a Serpent's Leer,
"I'm Serious about my Singing Career!"
And the Woods Resounded with many a Shriek
As the Birds flew off to the End of Next Week.