No Hole In these Buckets
The sun did not shine as twelve gathered to play,
A click and a pop and they moseyed away.
When up came two more to gather the flock
A hop and a scoot, Till they reached the the tippy top.
They warmed cold buns as a good monkey would do.
And after some toasting, got buckets half new,
Buckets divided and orders assigned.
But fusion of confusion did all but to bind,
Till one brave stone dove into the night,
But had to return for no bucket in sight.
A century of reps the teams did cordially share,
With eight cups a gallon the scuttle they bare,
And then up from the front a red line big grin
Dear liza then henry a catfish did sing.
Some grunting a groaning,
Splashing and dashing,
A sprinkle a dinkle,
The buckets went klankle
Till cups hit bottom and others were stopped.
The pavement was watered and a california man popped.
They thought it was over, oh no not one bit,
Two stacks were built and one had a tilt.
Runners asunder the front carried the bunch,
Indian run drums, a new type of munch.
A chase to the end not a planned thing your see,
But when you have indy, a winner he’ll be.
With two pails in hand and others with none,
The pax together were in for more fun.
Hard sitting some kicking and lounging aground,
Some counting and praying then fists all around.
COT – Easter
As always an honor to serve as Q