Grover and the Outback

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
In the unknown, a pet sheep can help.

Submitted: December 08, 2006

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Submitted: December 08, 2006

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GROVER AND THE OUTBACK

I once had a sheep called Grover
Who loved to jump and roll over
One day he got run over
And that's why I'm here in the outback.

I'm crunching on a meat pie
When all of a sudden I hear a cry
I didn’t think Grover would want to die.
And that's why I'm here in the outback.

I awake to the sound of the French fowl
And immediately I begin to howl
'Cause someone's stolen my Grover's towel
And you know he's got a weak bowel.

I pick up the carcass of my sheep Grover
And quickly and silently roll him over.
I realise as I wash his wool,
I should have bought a big black bull.

I live in the outback
Where sheep cry and whips crack.
All the wool is kept in sacks,
Except the stuff of my Grover's back.

By the beautiful moonlight I cook my meat,
The heat of the fire warming my feet.
As I lean back and start to eat,
I realise there are fire ants on my seat.

As I play on my French horn,
I'm eating a cob of a sour, sweet corn
I realise that I'm sitting on a rose thorn,
And when I get up, my pants are torn.

The outback is a beautiful place,
Though the mozzies might bite your face,
It's real peaceful, and there's so much space,
So why don’t you visit and we'll have a cow race.

 


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