This morning a rumbling woke me up.
I looked to see what I could find.
I searched the closet and under the bed,
But the rumbling grumble was mine.

It was true that I knew, I was somewhat depressed.
Therefore, I whined to my wife,
“I feel very sad and a little bit mad
That Kerfuzzles are gone from my life.”

“Mine, too,” she said. Then said it again.
“Mine, too!  It’s just hard to believe
That Kerfuzzles are banished. Plopsnorters, as well.
Do you think there is hope for reprieve?”

For a moment I was scared to answer her question.
So few words are no longer taboo.
Finally, “No,” I responded. “for someone’s absconded
With the last Commonsensicus, too.”

“What’s it all mean?” my wife said in fear.
“Is this only a short-term frustration?”
Will our children be allowed to take walks with  Wiseoppotumuses?
Or are they too marked for elimination?”

“And how has this happened,” she demanded to know
With a panicky look on her face.
“Now, sweetheart, don’t worry,” I said to calm her.
“The Toleration Rules are in place.”

“So, remain silent, Dear, like  we’ve done all along.
The time’s passed for making a fuss.
For the law now states that we tolerate them,
But they don’t have to tolerate us.”

“Do you remember Opinionosauruses?” I asked.
“We all had one, they were allowed anywhere!
And no one complained if it growled or whined
For their Opinionosaurus was theirs!”

Then came the day, some new folks moved in
and though they lived across town,
They shouted hatred at our Opinionosauruses
So, we retreated and here’s what we found:

It wasn’t enough for us to agree
They could have their own Opinionosauruses to keep.
But we never suspected their purpose was to force us
to put our Opinionosauruses to sleep.

They screamed and they chanted, they cursed and they cried,
And despite never having said please,
The government caved and our Opinionosaruses were smothered.
The squeaky wheel really does get the grease.

Everyone’s now got a Swasticanese.
They are oddly trained protectors, no doubt.
For most mean guard dogs don’t let bad people in.
But this breed does not let us out.

Last night, from the window I saw a cat in the hat
His sad tail barely dragging along.  He said,
“I play games with children, mere mischievous fun.
What have I done that’s so wrong?”

But the Tolerance Authority has sentenced him now
To the prison on Mulberry Street.
He’ll be locked up with Horton at McElligott’s Pool
And the Lorax will join them next week.