Tuesday, 12 February 2008

Another Poem

The Cabbage

I perchanced to take a little walk
One misty, moisty day,
I trotted through the barley fields
And stumbled through the hay,
Eventually I rested
By a sad and crooked stile,
When beyond I saw a cabbage field,
Stretching for half a mile.

I jumped the stile and walked awhile
Through the luscious greenery,
And I thought I saw the hand of God
In this noble scenery,
When all at once I seemed to hear
A little voice cry out,
"Watch where you're treading mister,
You great bigfooted lout."

I stood back in amazement,
As I saw from whence it came,
For a cabbage lept out of the ground,
And then it spoke again,
"I am a special cabbage
And no bastard treads on me",
Whereupon it bounced about,
Most excitedly.

"Cabbages can't talk," I said,
To which it gave a huff,"
But I'm a magic cabbage
And I warn you, I am tough,
But if you take me home with you
And sit me on the shelf,
I'll bring you luck and happiness,
Money and good health.

So now he sits in his little pot,
Upon the window sill,
He chats away most charmingly,
Although he's grumpy still,
He dances to the radio
And plays a little flute,
He frightens all the visitors,
But he makes me lots of loot.

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