Painless

   Rats in the cellar

Exist in a hell, or

At least so it seems to one's eye



They scurry o'er cold stone

And suffer all alone

But painlessly, quickly they die



The snares which we set them

Surprise and o'ertake them

With chance to exclaim not a cry...



How nice it must be there

Locked down in the cellar

Where not a soul utters a sigh



Relieved of the terror-

Encountering death where

There's not even time to ask why.