The Indifferent Shrew

{{#ifeq: | | {{#ifeq: Justin S. (Whiteflame) | |

   {{#ifeq: Whiteflame | || 
     Author: Whiteflame  
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   {{#ifeq: Whiteflame | |
     Author: Justin S. (Whiteflame) |
     Author: Justin S. (Whiteflame)  
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 {{#ifeq: Justin S. (Whiteflame) | |
   {{#ifeq: Whiteflame | | Authors: ' | 
     Authors: Whiteflame 
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   {{#ifeq: Whiteflame | |
     Authors: Justin S. (Whiteflame) |
     Author: Justin S. (Whiteflame) 
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}} {{#if:| — see also [[:Category:{{{category}}}|other works by this author]]}}

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<poem> I can see him As he looks about, With small beady black eyes, And brownish bristles that Stem from every centimeter of skin.

He does not care, I know he doesn’t As he scurries about, Doing as a shrew is supposed to, And why should he care? After all, he is a shrew, Doing as a shrew is supposed to.

Then, what am I doing Watching him? Huh, did he just look Up at me, acknowledge my existence? Did he, out of the corner of his eye, Glance at the behemoth biped? He is breaking the rules! Then again, perhaps I am, for taking interest In a shrew’s life; Aw, to hell with the rules, Damn them, Humans made them anyway. </poem>

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