by Ron Larson
Adapted from a story by Ambrose Bierce
They say Fay died of the flu; it was still goin’ around.
She was on a crude couch near an open window.
The forest cabin was situated far from town.
Now the mild widower Brown was feelin’ very low.
While in the other room, he heard a low hissin’ sound.
He jumped to his feet and saw a black flash leave the house.
A gross thing had made just one bound; then grievin’ Brown
Found the tip of a panther’s ear in his beloved Fay’s mouth.
© 2017 Ron Larson
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