I return to my tale of waste and excreta
when I'd sit in the grass and soil my seat-a.
Days are recalled of the shade tree mechanic
who quickly found things could be problematic.
That's mechanic me under that plow with a wrench
feeling a moist spot, accompanied by stench.
I wondered, "Now, what could that be?"
Then I'd hear a gaggle of geese laughing at me.
Or maybe I'd kneel to feed a bottle lamb,
and then, uh oh, too late I felt chicken jam
soak through the knee of my pants,
setting me off on profanity-laced rants.
And there'd be that rooster standing so proud,
cocky, and crowing. Oh, for a thundercloud
to send down a bolt of white lightning
so I could watch his feathers brightening!
A duck and a dozen ducklings enter the scene
eating and spewing like a mindless machine.
But, one thing, they and the others will be able
to get served up, succulent, on the dining table.
This saga's going to have to cease,
I'm tired of talking of the grease
comin' from the rear ends of these creatures.
Tales of a mess found on outdoor bleachers,
the bombarding seagulls while plowing cornstalks,
or sparrow attacks strolling down sidewalks,
they're all just really part of the game,
and I shouldn't he holding helpless critters to blame.
Farewell, good-bye, so long, auf Wiedersehn,
shalom, dosvidanye, see you later, 'til we meet again.
