Grandma had a huge root cellar
that kept our families fed all winter
Down earthen stairs alive with vines
was the way that we had to enter
I was the youngest and was sent
to fetch up jars, garden tools and rakes
I ran up one day in terror
"The cellar - it is fully of slimey snakes!''
"There goes that over-active mind again"
Mama snarled at me, took another sip of gin
Down again they sent me, telling me in disgust
that it didn't matter how much I fussed
Told they were only harmless breeds
that would not do me any harm...
till came that retribution day when a
harmless timber rattler bit me on my arm
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