‘Twas just an old abandoned shed
Decaying in the dell,
Inside were treasures of all sorts
That time had bid farewell.
Objects d’art were hung with twine
And carefully displayed,
Buckets, leather harnesses,
Steel plows, and rusty spade.
Then the pièce de résistance
In room’s center could be viewed.
It was most carefully guarded --
Le sac of dry cat food.
Asleep within this gallery
On sculptured hay bale bed
Was the steward of these items --
Le Curator of the shed.
At first glance he appeared to be
Chat noir -- a cat of black.
The second glimpse revealed to all
A white stripe down his back.
Few animals dared to trespass in
Le Curator’s domain,
Especially if their nose could smell
And they possessed a brain.
‘Twas greed that gripped Le Curator
With plans to boost his stash.
He snuck up to a refuse heap
To sift through other’s trash.
That’s when the fracas happened,
A thief came forth to steal,
He had a mask and banded tail
And planned to snitch a meal.
Time the brigand bided when
Le Curator left his shed,
The bandit came and havoc wrecked
Then in the dark he fled.
Grievous sight met beady eyes,
There’d been a bold incursion,
And Le Curator regretted
His scavenger excursion.
The thief defaced the gallery
And through the twine he chewed.
He kicked the buckets out the door
And stole le sac of food!
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