My Feud

I hate my neighbour Widow Green; I'd like to claw her face; But if I did she'd make a scene And run me round the place: For widows are in way of spleen A most pugnacious race. And yet I must do something quick To keep the hag in line, Since her red rooster chose to pick Five lettuce heads of mine: And so I fed it arsenic Which it did not decline. It disappeared, but on my mat Before a week had sped I found Mi-mi, my tabby cat And it was stoney dead; I diagnosed with weeping that On strychnine it had fed. And so I bought a hamburg steak, Primed it with powdered glass, And left it for her dog to take With gulping from the grass: Since then, although I lie awake I have not seen it pass. Well, that's the scoring up to date: And as I read a text From Job to justify my hate I wonder who'll be next? Somehow I feel that one must die, Ma Green or I.