This is what happens when a bard and a not-so-bard put their heads
together for an improvisational bit of poetry. The amusing thing
about doing this is you never know how you'll end up until you're
already there.

Edward the cowardly turtle,
woke up that Sarapin morn.
And poked his head out cautiously,
his outlook quite forlorn.

The snow had been a dumpin',
thru the all nite long.
And though the cold went to his bones,
he knew something more was wrong.

A vision of white, to the left and right,
was all that he could see.
But where was the pile of corn that he had
before him the day previously?

He tunneled his way to the surface,
unsure of what he'd find.
And to his chagrin, what he found was again
more of the white stuff well in kind.

There is a point to this silly story,
a moral some would call it.
Don't fall asleep in the snow, or surely you know,
your corn you'll never find it.

Penned by my hand on the 6th of Sarapin, in the year 410 AF.