From the “Nuts” archive
T’was the morn before working
and all through its head
The creature was stalling
still lying in bed
It clutched at the pillow
and moaned at the morn –
get up or lie silent?
still trying but torn
Then rose like a storm front
to menace the land
The creature creeped slowly
with shaking white hands
To the jest of its master
(Jumbo to go, black)
it turned on the water
in attempt to come back