Laughter hope sock in the eye's Blog

Mud

Mary McCrae sent her son out to play
One sunny afternoon
Timmy McCrae and his friends they did stray
To a grimy green lagoon
They slithered and slid and crawled and hid
Among the muddy dunes
Digging and rigging and slopping and glopping
They built a loam pontoon

In a puddle of silt by the boat they had built
Timmy tried to douse
Some of the slime, mud, muck and grime
Before he reached his house
But he could not lose the trail of ooze
Which steadily grew behind him
(I could run away his mind did stray
But someone surely would find him)
As his house appeared poor Timmy feared
His mother would no doubt remind him
The new school threads laid out on his bed
Which Mary had bought for her son
Were not meant for play and there was no way
To explain what he had done
He couldn’t get away or sheepishly say
“Mom, I was just having fun!”
Correctly he guessed, she wouldn’t be impressed
If he told her that his side had won
Poor Timmy shuddered, his little heart sputtered
As he reached his front door
He wouldn’t be acquitted, nor even permitted
To play outside any more
He entered his house, mute as a mouse
His mother let out a great roar
But when she recovered, Timmy discovered
She did not completely deplore
The layers of slime, mud, muck, and grime
Encompassing her child
For in her own day Mary MaCrae
Was known to be a tad wild

by Richard W. Bray