Here are three brand new etchings:
I've lost my pounce;
I'm out of bounce;
I am a ball of misery.
I'm off my feet;
I cannot eat.
Dog-sick am I for all to see.
What is this pain that has me slain?
What caused my guts to churn and gripe?
That snack I've had can't have been bad.
That dung smalt lovely, rich and ripe!
With swollen chest you crow your song:
"Come, all you ladies, come along!
Come see this vain and glorious sight!
Look at my plumage, gold and bright!
Come hear my call, my voice abides:
Come worship me, come be my brides!"
Your bugle punctuates the day.
It echoes here and there and far away.
You doodle morning, night and noon.
You even serenade the moon.
My friend if you don't stop real soon
I'll have you for my tea, you loon!
"Yee-haw!" said the mare,
"I dare you, I dare,
this gallop to share!"
"This track is exciting!
It's wide and inviting.
Let's go and stop fighting!"