As I writty wratty wrote
In a bungled cordial chair
A whittle man came on a goat
Who had naught but one hair
‘Comey hither little toad’
The man did say to me
‘And trot down this bendy road
Till those thinky thoughts are free’
‘Who do you believe you are?’
Said I thinking myself wise
‘I’ve yet to figure that out so far’
He squarked with inkling in his eyes
So upsy we bobbled down the lane
Every stepping step onward still
‘What a distance!’ I did complain
As we sledded up a hill
‘Take this single hair from my steed’
Whittle man said as he handed it to me
‘It will bring you everything you knead’
And he galumped away and up a tree
I stood in nowhere, goat hair in hand
Thinking where next to go
When along came a marching band
Who played songs we all did know
So I followed them about
Though their heart were sad and lone
They led me with purpose, no doubt
For I ended back with my own
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