In the village square you see,
There was an ancient Wahlnut tree.
From its branches fell (as near as I can tell),
A Wahlnut straight from hell.
And long ago the tree was cut,
But not before there fell this nut.
His name was Tom, the village clown.
Yes, ‘twas in old Metamora town.
He liked to say, as was his way,
“I am a Metamoron.”
He loved to brag and tell tall tales, I say.
Surely he’s the devil’s spawn.
And as he said, when he sped upon his bike,
”I never met a Metamoron I didn’t like.”
He would scare the kids with his ugly face,
Drag his leg and give a chase.
One day he fell from grace,
Never more to see his face.
Some think it was the tree (his mom)
That accidentally fell on Tom.
But it was not this way we know;
His awful meanness laid him low.
He exploded in a puff of smoke one day.
All his meanness gathered up; he’s blown away.
So please remember this sad tale and learn;
If you do things to make your conscience burn,
Don’t blame me if you begin to smoke.
Beware: this true tale is not a joke.