No one stirs at noon in fancy khakis –
Neither lord nor lackey;
None have awakened
To long legs and oval eggs,
For the frog hath not croaked
Amidst the leeks and oaks
Where pigs dig and a mushroomer begs.
All may not be well for the denizens,
But, Citizens, have heart!
Park your anxieties,
Rid yourselves of fear;
Loathe the idea that ‘shrooms are dear.
A wizard awaits, cauldron filled
With buckeyes and newts,
In purple juice
Beside washbuckets askew,
Sideways turned, bereft
Of the few hoards of herring left
After I, hungred, of you asked,
Please pass the spork.
No one stirs at noon in fancy khakis –
Neither lord nor lackey;
None have awakened
To long legs and oval eggs,
For the frog hath not croaked
Amidst the leeks and oaks
Where pigs dig and a mushroomer begs.
All may not be well for the denizens,
But, Citizens, have heart!
Park your anxieties,
Rid yourselves of fear;
Loathe the idea that ‘shrooms are dear.
A wizard awaits, cauldron filled
With buckeyes and newts,
In purple juice
Beside washbuckets askew,
Sideways turned, bereft
Of the few hoards of herring left
After I, hungred, of you asked,
Please pass the spork.