After the rain came slogging down
In it's patent leather boots,
All in lock-step,
There was some mud in the bottom of the ditch

With a puddle on top of it
And blades of grass poking up through.
Beside the normally dusty and generally
Quaint country road

That had been condemned to die
Just the other day.
Now Ms. Matilda Bonshell,
A member of the Community,

Was just beside herself with weeping,
And she said that there were not
Enough quaint things left in the world,
No, not nearly enough left.

And deary, if we are to take down this one
Old road, then what's to stop us going
Further? What's to stop us making all the quaint
Things go away, and then what of the old people?

I know what it is, you've got it in
For our pension checks! Oh, I'll tell
Nigel, just you wait until he hear's
About this--he will be upset, you mark me.

And then she noticed the mud
In the ditch, with the water
On top of it and so on
And climbed down off the road

To look between the muddy blades
For some pleasant sentiment
To send to her friend Marjorie,
Who she'd travelled Europe with.

The foot pressed into her back,
The one that had been there all
Along, the one wearing
The patent leather boots.

She burbled and reached forward
With red-painted finger nails
And tried to raise her head
To where the road bends.

Penned by my hand on the 13th of Aeguary, in the year 398 AF.