A *** called Boe has stubbed his toe, he’s stumbled in the gutter;
with broken neck, he looks a wreck, the sparrows all aflutter.

The passers-by, they close an eye, and turn their heads to mutter:
“Let’s pray for rains to cleanse the lanes, to rid the road of clutter.”

A river slows neath mountain snows, and leaves begin to shudder.