Cabbage, White

A white cabbage

flew into my garden

just the other day.


It wasn’t even

a moment past

the merry month of May.


There was this grocer

that I’d forgotten to pay;

he couldn’t gain my attention

in any other way.


It landed on my head,

almost made me dead,

from a wound I freely bled;

and headed off to bed.


The police asked the grocer,

‘Were you the one who threw it?’

‘No, sir.’ said the grocer,

‘But, truth be told I grew it.’


The policeman had a whistle,

and long and loudly blew it;

and every dog who heard,

for miles and miles around,

was awakened by the sound

of the whistle blowing loud;

they formed a woofy crowd,

around the grocer bold,

to see what he would say,

and hear what he might be told.


Evidence I had,

of a cabbage and a wound(

but the grocer pleaded my insanity,

at which false claim I swooned.


In the end I paid the grocer,

so he would come no closer;

and off he went in haste,

with a dollar he would waste

upon the purchase of a goat,

who’s asking price was a five-pound note.

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