The Piute
A
Ambrose Bierce
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Unbeautiful is the Piute!
Howe'er bedecked with bravery,
His person is unsavory
Of soap he's destitute.
He multiplies upon the earth
In spite of all admonishing;
All censure his astonishing
And versatile unworth.
Upon the Reservation wide
We give for his inhabiting
He goes a-jackass rabbiting
To furnish his inside.
The hopper singing in the grass
He seizes with avidity:
He loves its tart acidity,
And gobbles all that pass.
He penetrates the spider's veil,
Industriously pillages
The toads' defenseless villages,
And shadows home the snail.
He lightly runs to earth the quaint
Red worm and, deftly troweling,
He makes it with his boweling
Familiarly acquaint.
He tracks the pine-nut to its lair,
Surrounds it with celerity,
Regards it with asperity
Smiles, and it isn't there!
I wish he'd open up a grin
Of adequate vivacity
And carrying capacity
To take his Agent in.
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