Here's my effort. I'm no poet, and don't even ask why the deer has a fife. Or why he strings his harp with a bushcrafters' thong (awful memories of that picture of JP come to mind
). Here you go anyway.
Handsome young man called Mears,
Wandered around the woods with a knife.
Listening with extra-sensitive ears
to the sounds of a deer with a fife.
He wandered through into a clearing,
And sat awhile carving a spoon.
Sitting working he started hearing
the cry of a baby raccoon.
But alas! Came down the rain from the sky
In a great torrent of precipitation
Thought Mears - Now, surely, I'll die!
It was a most unpleasant sensation
But quick wit saved young Mears,
For he had in his Sabre a tarp
Wrapped around several fine beers -
Aged lovingly for many long years
Stringing his tarp between two trees
All at once - crash! Some thunder, and lightning
Young Mears went weak at the knees.
Thought he - this is ever so frightening!
At risk of being struck as he stood
He strung a hammock under his tarp
And lay in it, still carving some wood.
From which he was making a harp.
When the harp was done, still laying did he
Play upon it an ancient song.
With the frame made all of wood
And the strings his bushcrafter's thong.
Thus playing did young Mears pass the time
And singing, in tones most pue
This poem must end, lest the rhyme
Become even worse - quite a feat!
