Friday, February 20

The Baying Burble Tree

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In the silence of September
Where the gleaming Grundles grow,
Beneath the Baying Burble Tree
Across the hedging row,

There lives a cogered gentleman
Among the crazy Cricks,
A man of mirth and melody
Who peddles Burble sticks.

His voice is heard above the heath
And down below the holler,
Singing, "Buy my Baying Burble sticks
For a dillar and a dollar!"

Well now, all the Cricks and Creaks and Croaks
That lived around the land
Felt that buying silly Burble sticks
Was more than they could stand.

And so, they got them axes, gropes and graws,
Then vowed a villians vow:
"Tomorrow noon where Burble stands,
The plog will pull the plow!"

That night, the old and cogered gentleman
Could hear their cruel cries,
As Cricks and Croaks flew round their fires
That flamed the forest skies.

What will he do whose only joy
And job will turn to dust?
What could he do that could be done
Before the Burble busts?

Then as the morning billows blushed
Above the Tootle trees,
And yellow Yikes and Yolo Balls
Were swaying in the breeze,

The strangest sight that you could see
Was seen up in the sky:
A giant Baying Burble tree
And passenger sailed by.

There sitting on a lumpy limb
And holding on for life,
The dear old cogered gentleman
Notched a message with his knife.

And this is what the writing read
Although the tree grew smaller:
"Come ride the flying Burble tree
For a dillar and a dollar!"

The moral of the story is
A short and simple saying:
"Enterprise works miracles,
But not without much praying."

9/15/83

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