The Campfire
There once was a campfire at night,
but something felt not quite right.
As smoke tendrils rose up the owls nose,
the forest got a bit too bright.
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There once was a campfire at night,
but something felt not quite right.
As smoke tendrils rose up the owls nose,
the forest got a bit too bright.
The sky was blue and the sun was out, a beautiful morning without a doubt. A stroll around the neighborhood, a fresh breeze and cedar wood. I passed a house and what did I see? A figure in the window looking at me. But a normal person it was not,
There he stood, the man with one leg, The other looked like it was built in a shed. A pirate? Shark attack? Farm Accident? Or cannibals while missionizing the dark continent? Yet there he stood tall, proud and bold, His wooden leg polished, varnished and gold. Impressed by his demeanor
Once upon a time, atop a mountain far away, there lived a great king who oversaw all the lands. The king had anything and everything he could possibly dream of, including Crohn's Disease (which he wished he'd never dreamt about). One crisp autumn day while picking
There was once an old goose from West Keet, who was born without any feet. He tried to fly so he wouldn't die, but a car ran him down in the street.