Ode to Miss Meadow
Liam had him a big ol’ brother,
His hair was yeller as the sun.
And ever’where that brother went,
He couldn’t do no wrong, that son of a gun.
This here one time, he was put in jail,
His arms and legs in metal shackles.
When what to the wonderin’ eye did ‘ppear?
Bunch o’Po-lice set him free, a whole packal!
Fed him they lunches, tossed him a pop,
Chortled at his jokes and his wit,
Me, I jest stood at the side, in awe and wonder,
And ’twas plumb put out enough to spit.
For flounderin’ alone in the cold and the dark,
In the dank and the damp of the cellar,
Was Grandpap, who’d raised his voice at the judge,
Punished ‘fer comin’ to Brother’s aid, poor feller.
Well, Brother Lawrence wudn’t bad to the core,
And come to hisself after a time,
He smiled and cajoled till he was blue in the face,
And them po-lice, set Grandpap free, claimin’ he’d ain’t not committed no crime.
So Miss Meadow, I hope you’re swell,
And satisfied with this pome I writ,
Fer rhymin’ I’ve tried, near cried till I died,
And know pomes’ is a chore, so I quit.
Yer student, Liam Goodwell.
Of the Denton County Goodwells