So…on that dark and stormy night
We dressed in several layers, wrapped tight,
And fashioned capes from sheets…off-white…
The sheets weren't laundry fresh…not quite…
Then Newkirk slapped the bunk bed post,
And steps dropped down, and like a ghost
Well…three ghosts really…off we went
To find the tales the writers sent;
Those writers who had gladly spent
Their time describing what we'd done;
The histories of everyone.
Those writers now depended on
Our mission…or their tales were gone!
Yes! Really…all completely gone!
Or maybe they kept copies too,
On files in strange machines; who knew?
Stop rambling Andrew! Don't forget
That cell phones and the internet,
They haven't been invented yet!
Not when our tales are clearly set
In nineteen forties' Germany,
Portrayed with authenticity;
No reference to the future, no!
In fashion, catch phrase, TV show,
Or any other aspect, no!
~0~
Well, anyway, we reached the snow,
With stump and searchlights timed just so,
And reached the forest, snow still fell
On Newkirk, me; LeBeau as well,
Who sank thigh-deep (knee-deep to us…
He's used to it…not fazed, no fuss)
Our footsteps made the pathway clear,
So Louis would not disappear.
Non! Carter, I am not that small,
No risk I'd disappear at all!
I'm light, and nimble-footed, so
Do not need help to get through snow!
It's really quite insulting to
Declare I needed help from you!
No help required from you…or you!
~0~
Oy! I'm not part of this complaint!
Dismissive of your height, I ain't!
You might scrape five foot one in socks
And fit inside that tank…safe…box…
And need the smallest size in frocks,
With tiny hat and tiny shawl
But I don't think you're small, at all!
You act as though you're ten feet tall
My little mate's not short at all!
And yet…I think we had to lift
You out of one, quite small, snow drift…
A great thank you to everyone who has sent their votes in so far. For everyone else (myself included!), we will be accepting votes until April 22nd. Have fun reading, and don't forget to leave reviews!