Rob brought me the news last night.
In the storm our big tent took flight.
Though staked to the ground,
it flew all around.
We’ll survey the damage tonight.
As confessed on a friend’s famous feature,
at heart I’m a scroogely ol’ creature.
When money’s concerned,
and especially when burned,
If I find I’ve been wronged, I’ll beat ya.
But currently I’m in quite a bind.
There’s no culprit or crook to find.
It’s nobody’s fault,
so I’ve none to assault,
and it’s driving me out of my mind.
To some folks, one-fifty’s expendable.
To me, it’s a home quite dependable.
Losing that tent
is like losing the rent.
I hope it’s at least somewhat mendable.
Dang, your prose rambles sweetly, Uncle Farris.
Dear Andi, you wound me, my dear.
Your words compliment me, that’s clear.
But others in time
Have answered in rhyme,
And you, of all folks, should adhere.
If a tent’s what you need I can check
To see if mine’s not a wreck.
If I find it’s still good
I hope that you would
Come and get it at speeds break-neck.
If it’s ten feet by twenty by nine,
I’ll be at your door in no time.
However, I doubt
You’ve a hut so far out,
though the I offer I find rather kind.
When I read your “ten by twenty” chatter
It almost made my heart shatter.
I’m not a dumb guy
But what they said was a lie.
It seems that size really DOES matter.