Frump Village Grump

Horace P. Flee was the Frump Village grump,

No loveliness in his demeanour,

He lived all alone near the old county dump,

Developed his skills as a screamer.

Whenever he heard just so much as a bump,

His head would pop out of the door,

With a noise that would make almost everyone jump

And his displeasure then underscore.

One day to the village known solely as Frump,

(Please don’t think it’s for fashion expression!)

Came a strong-minded widow, quite pretty and plump,

With her children that numbered eleven.

Now, when moving, one’s household goods come in a clump

And are sorted through carefully after.

And necessitate many a trip to the dump,

For the children: Adventure With Laughter.

Now, Horace P. Flee, that old village grump

Wasn’t happy with all of the joy.

So he shouted a phrase that made all of them jump,

He intended to hurt and annoy.

Then Abigail, she who was pretty and plump,

But possessed of a lively, bright spirit,

A piece of her mind, she gave that village grump,

And forced him to stand there and hear it.

Then something strange happened that day at the dump,

With all of the parties together,

For Horace’s heart hit his shoes with a thump,

While Abby’s beat light as a feather.

Their marriage was viewed by the Village of Frump,

With the two of them there in the heather,

The minister stood on a great old tree stump,

With a smile, he joined them together.

Now the villagers using the Frump Village dump,

(If it’s not too hard to believe . . .)

Found the happy noise now from the home of the ‘grump’,

Was far more than what they could achieve.

Horace P. Flee was the Frump Village grump,

Until life with his Abby ‘begun’,

When you least expect it, you’re knocked on your rump,

‘Cause there’s someone for ev-er-y-one.