Borders For Uncle Monk
'Quite a clump,' he summarised
As knowing as could be
"Sir, these boots are really not for me."
"These boots are made for walking
As rapid as they may."
And, saying that, he threw the things away.
"This glass mule," he struck a chime
As hollow as he dared
"Has, contrary to how it seems, never been repaired"
"These boots are made for walking
I trashed them yesterday."
And, hearing that, the mule commenced to bray.
He-haw, he-haw, he oughta wear boots that don't make an ass of him
"So how 'bout vinyl zebra print boots?" the man with the red tie asked.
surely you jest, sputtered the mule
vinyl zebra boots may set you free
"But if they do," he continued, "You may never return to me."
The moral here is passing plain
The sound of stamping feet echo down the halls again
| Contributors: | Roland, Beefy, chaise, Nancy S, loaf, Stephanie Caouette, Megg Byrnes, Lori Cushman, Scott Wosleger, Howard Hafford Sr.. |
| Poem finished: | 4th February 2004 by jm. |