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๐’๐ญ๐ซ๐š๐ง๐ ๐ž ๐†๐ฎ๐ข๐๐ž๐ฌ

I once knew a blind man, his name it was Jake.
His guide was no dog, but in fact was a snake.
A red-bellied black โ€” his reptilian guide
Was six feet in length and was two inches wide.
Jake had it in harness and followed its trail,
And sometimes heโ€™d give it a yank on the tail.
The snake never bit him, though fangs it would bare,
And hiss something like: โ€Iโ€™m your master.โ€ I swear!
Heโ€™d had a guide dog but the poor pooch had died
The day after Jake bought the snake โ€” poor Jake cried.
The vet, he had said: โ€œI suspect those two holes
In your guide dogโ€™s neck, they were not made by moles.โ€
The snake played his cards right โ€” he tended to cheat,
(Not easy when one has no hands, legs, or feet)
But managed to tempt Jake to give him a go
At guiding his footsteps โ€” they started off slow
But soon got it right, and Iโ€™d see them most days,
As Jake trailed behind the snakeโ€™s serpentine ways.
The end to this tale, well Iโ€™m sorry, itโ€™s sad,
(Although I suspect that that snake, he was bad)
The story was told by blind Jake at the wake:
One morning the pair of them, Jake and the snake,
Were walking (and slithering) slow through the fog.
Another blind man with a guide (not a dog)
Passed by them, and somehow the manโ€™s guide broke loose โ€”
No snake is a match for a hungry mongoose.

โ€” D.N. Oโ€™Brien