It’s possible, or so I’m told,
For all of us, e’en wise and old,
To know a lot of topics bold,
And nothing much of others.
And so today, I’ll illustrate,
Perhaps I can elucidate,
How knowledge can be, here,
first-rate,
While, there, less
than another’s.
A city slicker full of charm,
Stopped one day at a large sheep farm,
Gave compliments meant to disarm,
While speaking to the shepherd.
Then wanting to assert his worth,
That he was smarter from his birth,
As proved by clothes and width of girth,
And big words, language peppered.
And so he said, “I’ll count your sheep!
Cause I could do it in my sleep,
And my high reputation, keep,
For being so much wiser.”
"And for my talents, one, I’ll take,
With him, my own herd, I will make,
Or maybe in an oven, bake,
He’ll be an appetizer."
The farmer said, “Please go ahead,
And add the figures in your head,
Your words do not fill me with dread,
Let’s see your smarts! Yes, really.”
The ‘Slicker’ yawned, then smugly smiled,
And looked the pasture o’er a while,
He said, “My figure, I’ve compiled,
Though conditions weren’t ideal-ly.”
“Four hundred sheep, plus thirty-two,
There, I have shown my ‘smarts’ to you,
And now a sheep I will accrue.”
He grabbed one. Started walking.
The farmer said, “I know that I,
Can see that you are one smart guy,
But if, from shoes to smart bow tie,
I guess your occupation . . .”
“Could we try doubling-or-naught?
I’d like to give my
smarts a shot,
And see if your goose can be caught,
And stop me from deflation.”
The ‘Slicker’
smirked. “This, I must see.”
Said farmer.
“It occurs to me.
An accountant, you must surely be!
It’s
obvious to me, too.”
You really have dealt me a blow.”
The farmer smiled, “I’m not that slow,
Put down my dog, I’ll tell you.”
Mondays do get knocked a lot,
With poetry, we three besought,
To try to make the week begin,
With gentle thoughts--perhaps a grin?
Now post our poems for you to see.
And when you’ve read what we have brought,
Next week, come back, cause here's the thing,
The three of us will tackle SPRING!
Still laughing.
ReplyDeleteMic drop. ;)
DeleteBEST ending ever! You started my week with a laugh.
ReplyDeleteMy job here is done! ;)
DeleteLOL!!!!! Thank you for the hilarities!
ReplyDeleteYou are so welcome, Jenny! Thank you for thinking they're hilarious! :)
DeleteNot even an Old English ! Very funny. Once again I am wowed by your many talents!!
ReplyDeleteAn Old English, I could--possibly--understand!
DeleteHi Diane - your comment addressed to Joan at my blog was actually on Yorkshire Pudding's poem. I didn't publish it yet; do you want to leave a corrected version instead?
ReplyDeleteI like to. How can I do that?
DeleteJust leave another comment as a reply to Yorkshire Pudding; I'll let it go through moderation. I'll delete your first one that is sitting in moderation.
DeleteAnd Joan has posted her poem now, too!
True story: A city slicker visited me when my tiny town had their pet parade. "That's a strange looking doberman," city slicker proclaimed. "That's a goat," a blurted and laughed. I supposed I should have been more diplomatic. Oh well.
ReplyDeleteBwahahaha! I have the topic for my next poem . . .
DeleteBig smiles. Accountants are necessary evils. Farmers are just necessary. Essential even.
ReplyDeleteAccountants. Pfff . . .
DeleteHa Ha, "put down my dog"
ReplyDeleteAt first I thought maybe the city slicker was mistakenly counting cows thinking they were sheep..
Definitely could happen!
DeleteJust what city slicker deserved...bow tie, indeed. No one walks about our farms in anything but outsize clogs and an ancient flat cap, even the accountant.
ReplyDeleteSo true! Big Wellies here!
DeleteNot expecting the end to this poem. Love starting day with a laugh. Thanks! Weekends In Maine
ReplyDeleteSo glad you enjoyed it, Karen! And welcome!
Delete