Adders Multiplying (A Prothalamion)
A sudden movement, then a startling sight — There in the grass two adders reared erect Affording me a rare chance to inspect Their Op-art, zig-zap markings, black on white. Two males then. This a mating fight; A female waiting somewhere, I expect, To be the victor's mate. Yes, there she lay Basking close by. Thus male snakes, it seems, select Which of them shall breed. To me, I must say, It seems a rather funny way To carry on. Still, to the serpentine It's natural, I'm sure, to intertwine And wrestle in these awkward, upright bouts.
The system seems to work just fine.
No adder has the slightest doubts.
Why, any other system flouts The Laws of Nature, favouring the strong And male adders over two feet long.
The fight proceeded, and as you'd have guessed, The larger of the two in due course won.
The vanquished did what the vanquished have done Down the ages. Crawled off, depressed, To hide. An angry hiss expressed His feelings perfectly. The victor slithered on To claim his prize. The favours of the fair Would soon be his. His forked tongue Flickered, sensing on the sun-warmed air The scent of his love lying there In the long grass. Arriving at her side In high excitement, hurriedly he tried To climb on top, covering her coils With his. Perhaps I'd watch him take his bride, I thought. But voyeurism soils Pure passions and such moments spoils. Best leave them to it. Watching would be wrong. Glide on, male adder. Here I'll end my song.
George Jowett
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