The Times Are Tidy

Unlucky the hero born

In this province of the stuck record

Where the most watchful cooks go jobless

And the mayor's rôtisserie turns

Round of its own accord.

There's no career in the venture

Of riding against the lizard,

Himself withered these latter-days

To leaf-size from lack of action:

History's beaten the hazard.

The last crone got burnt up

More than eight decades back

With the love-hot herb, the talking cat,

But the children are better for it,

The cow milks cream an inch thick.