The Sprout that
Ruined Christmas
T’was a single sprout that sealed her fate,
As she walked down the hall, bird on a plate.
That poor little sprout, it did do its best,
Hiding in the room packed full of guests.
But knocked by the door it rolled in her path,
Stopping before her two feet from the hearth.
And oh how she yelled, as she took
a tumble,
A silence then fell, no murmur, no mumble.
For never a bird had finer been roasted,
No grander a feast ever been hosted.
And the bird it did fly! It arced overhead,
Whilst host and her guests looked on in dread.
For heading for Vicar it seemed to be,
This basted bird this, gigantic Turkey.
And hit him it did with an almighty
thwack,
Clean off his chair, flat on his back.
So dinner was ruined the Vicar was hurt,
But all was not lost, there was always dessert.
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