The nights had been cold on the African savannah, so cold as to chill to the bone.
But this was the domain of the aardvark, it was the aardvark’s humble home.
The termites and the ants were being eradicated by the humans who were rude.
This was bad for the aardvarks as those pests had been their food.
The first to fall was Henry James, the second Marsha Tyed.
Smothered to death by the aardvark as he sat on each face and cried.
The tears were real and so sad he was, when kids discovered the fate of the pair.
He bellowed in sadness and in despair as he dragged the children off by their hair.
Partially fed, but by no means full, he continued his depressing slaughter.
He pushed a night watchman down some stairs and even ate up his poor daughter.
It had to be done, he kept telling himself, as the tears dripped down to his snout.
He moaned and groaned in utter anguish as he ripped their aortas out.
He had to keep going until they all were gone, at least now he won’t be starving.
He came up with a plan and upon a tree, “It Was The Lions!” he did start carving.
Today few remember the names of the victims or how the whole village died.
But late at night on the African plains the moans can be heard, reminiscent of…
The Night the Aardvark Cried.
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