Skunk’s footfall plods padded
But like the thunder-crash
He makes the night woods nervous
And wears the lightning-flash –
From nose to tail a zigzag spark
As warning to us all
That thunderbolts are very like
The strokes he can let fall.
That cloudburst soak, that dazzling bang
Of stink he can let drop
Over you like a cloak of tar
Will bring you to a stop.
O Skunk! O King of Stinkards!
Only the Moon Knows
You are her prettiest, ugliest flower,
Her blackest, whitest rose!