Things have been a little slow on the forum lately, so here's a poem for you:
HOME ON THE RANGE
Briefly, everybody loved and lost at the ranch.
It was that gemmy piece of turf which everybody owned or wanted.
We were married in a treehouse near the mill,
Suspended over the creek,
Singing Home On the Range. Four months later,
Helicopters were ripping the air
And frogmen were picking apart the creek bed,
Looking for our lost girl.
The landlord didnt wear a top hat,
Probably didnt look like a Dickens villain,
But that is how I remember him. Every month
He wanted more money, wanted to evict everyone,
Schemed to make rental units from pigpens.
Richard planted a fuchsia
Which enchanted hummingbirds.
They hung their nests from his ears
And made bracelets around his wrists
As he watered the bush.
When that singer took money made from music,
Bought the whole place, moved into Richards house,
He wondered what had become of the hummingbirds
And the magic fuchsia. Everybody knows her face,
So he recognized her on the street.
But when he asked about his birds, she turned her back
And walked away without a word.
So much for the muse and social justice.