To Urchins, to Clean Up your Grime
with apologies to Robert Herrick
Gather your clothes, Bud, while you may;
You'd better start complying.
And do it now or there's hell to pay—
Tonight you'll be a-crying.
Your furious Grampa Kevin, son,
Is tired from his betting,
And soon the last race will be run,
And home he'll be a-getting.
His rage, no question, is the worst
When his nag's a poor performer;
He's hot to vent, and should he burst
Your hide will soon be warmer.
So clean up toys; I'll hide the wine;
Let's hope it's not too scary;
Remember, once, you crossed the line;
Now be forever wary.
You'd better start complying.
And do it now or there's hell to pay—
Tonight you'll be a-crying.
Your furious Grampa Kevin, son,
Is tired from his betting,
And soon the last race will be run,
And home he'll be a-getting.
His rage, no question, is the worst
When his nag's a poor performer;
He's hot to vent, and should he burst
Your hide will soon be warmer.
So clean up toys; I'll hide the wine;
Let's hope it's not too scary;
Remember, once, you crossed the line;
Now be forever wary.
by Christopher Scribner
in Volume 3 Issue 2
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