Poem for 11/30/01:

It was bedlam in the Shanghai glebes;

The beaver sat at the wheel;

Pedal to medal, it called out the window:

"Make way for the Hero Mobile!"

Their crew was impressive - need I say more?

At an end of the rate I still will.

First there was Yodeler - who owned a flu-store;

And had already drafted his will.

The second was Cactus - a wildish type

Whose head had been covered with thorns

By the very same Beaver who sat at the wheel

When her fur coat the Cactus had scorned.

The third was an Ostrich, a mildish bird

Who solved every problem at hand

By waving a flag at the tip of a pole

While her head she did bury in sand.

The fourth was that Beaver who sat at the wheel

(Remaining so still was her head

That the lordly Lord English could not help but feel

That that Beaver would have to be dead.)

The fifth was a Quandary, who puzzled the rest

With her myriad count of tattoos;

From the Angering Beast tattooed on his breast,

To the Elephant, drawn on its nose.

The seventh was Squid, while the sixth was a Nurse,

Who would offer to them all some pills;

Some, sworn to cure the cancerous growths

While others were said to cure chills.

The eighth was an Ox, in temper and face

(Though from neck down he was quite human)

The ninth was a Fox, then tenth was a Sheep,

And of those we see all the ten.

But eleventh was Fireman, who had then stayed home,

His Hose having gone out of whack;

And the twelfth, a brave Cowboy, had gone West to roam,

To embark on an Indian Attack.

This was too bad, for our heroes had had

Bad fortune, following all of the way

Their tour-bus was stuck in seventeen feet of mud,

Leaving room for a bit of delay.

Buried deep under mud, there was no doubt they sh'u'd

See to that grease-fire posthaste

But they were too busy saving their pants from the mire,

(Which tasted a tad bit like paste.)

Smoke filled the room, and the Bride and the Groom

(Who had journeyed along with them) left

Braving the mud in a small submarine,

That the Beaver had christened 'The Chest'.

Alas, poor heroes, we must leave you here,

For our audience cannot lend aid to you;

(Unless, then, perhaps, by some fate of chance,

They write a sequel - 'The Heroes, Part Two'.)

My story is done, it is time that I run

(The end doth so swiftly draw nigh!)

And, in conclusion - I mean no derision,

But it really is time that I fly.