The Boy surrounds himself with snakes.
His father, noticing, shivers and shakes,
At the thought of snakes coming alive.
Yet this is what The Boy desires,
The idea came to him from a book.
At the library, he had a look,
At a picture of a snake, swaying to a soulful song.
The Boy ran home, he’d try this alone.
Crossed legged he sat, poised to play
Thinking of the boy in the picture, that day
The song to the snake, did speak,
Because the basket began to creak
But was it nature’s freak?
No, the live head of the coiled snake, could then be seen,
Had taken the place, where the fake snake had been.
The Boy stared at the mesmerised snake,
The viper, hypnotised by The Boy’s look
Danced and swayed, the basket shook.
His father suddenly, unexpectedly returned.
His father’s form was stuck fast to the floor,
As he watched in horror holding onto the door.
Then all the snakes, to his dismay, began to sway,
He grabbed the flute from between his son’s lips,
The snake, back into the basket slipped.
Silence, the vipers changed, into what they had been.
Live snakes, were never again, in the house seen.