Ten Little Words

(apologies to Clement Clark Moore)

Beet, jacket tremor bayou elbow lightbulb cinnamon bucket elk carport

Twas the night before harvest 

When all through the bayou

Not one elk was a’stirin, not one little boo 

The carport was lit by a single lightbulb

in the hopes that someone got home from the pub

The beet was all nestled in the jacket elbow

While cinnamon buns rose from the dough.

When out in the paddock there came such a tremor

I ran to the door holding my hammer. 

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