Wherever crumbs of comfort may appear;
Who layeth siege, in mural cracks or trenches,
Where grease spots lure or rampant be the stenches;
Who hideth in the dough when bread is rising,—
I ask you to a Feast, of my devising,—
To eat these powders, 'round the plumbing placed,
Until your glutted carcass be effaced.
O, Little Roach, if you would selfish be
And not "ring in" your whole fool family,
We'd tolerate you: nay, a pet would make you