Welcome back to The Daily Poem, a podcast from Goldberry Studios. I'm Sean Johnson, and today is Friday, March 28, 2025.

And I'll come right out and say it. Today's poem is short to give you a rare insight and update

into my personal life. My family and I have been in the process of

buying a home and simultaneously moving my mother from Oregon to Florida to come live with us.

And so in the past fortnight, I have been on both coasts of the United States. I have packed

two moving trucks, spent a boatload of money, borrowed even more.

And I'm living in a sea of half-unpacked cardboard boxes, including those in what is

becoming my new home office. So you can imagine the various demands on my time. Hopefully, though,

this punchy little poem will not only grant me a little reprieve, but also still give you

something like a commensurate dose of joy, entertainment, enlightenment. It's called

The Scorpion, and is by Helair Belloc. And if you know anything about Belloc, you know that he could sometimes be a bit like a scorpion.

He was an early 20th century critic, historian, social commentator, and all around

curmudgeon, but also a children's author.

And it could be a fiercely loyal friend,

but if you found yourself at odds with Belloc,

you had justifiable reason to fear the sharp sting of his wit.

But we'll discover in the final line of today's poem

that Hillare Belloc may have one more thing in common with a scorpion.

Here's the poem.

The scorpion is as black as soot.

He dearly loves to bite.

He is a most unpleasant brute to find in bed at night.

...