The Fox, The Crow and the Cookie

Through mostly vacant streets
A baker from the out-skirts of his town
Earned his living peddling sweets from a ragged cart he dragged around
The clever fox crept close behind
Kept an ever watchful eye
For a chance to steal a ginger spicecake
Or a boysenberry pie

Looking down was the hungry crow
"When the time is right, I'll strike
And condescend to the earth below
And take whichever treat I'd like."
The moment the baker turned around
To shoo the fox off from his cart
The crow swooped down
And snatched a shortbread cookie and a German chocolate tart

Using most unfriendly words
That the village children had not yet heard
The baker shouted threats by canzonet to curse the crafty bird
"You rotten wooden mixing spoon,!
Why, you midnight winged raccoon!
You better bring those pastries back, you no good, burnt,-black macaroon!"

The fox approached the tree
Where the bird was perched, delighted in his nest
"Brother Crow, don't you remember me?
It's your old friend Fox with a humble request
If you could share just a modest piece
Seeing as I distracted that awful man."
This failed to persuade the crow at the least
So the fox rethought his plan

"Then if your lovely song would grace my ears
Or to even to hear you speak
Would ease my pains and fears!"
The crow looked down with the candy in his beak
"Your poems of wisdom, my good crow
What a paradise they bring!"
This flattery pleased the proud bird so
He opened his mouth and began to sing

"Your subtle acclimation's true
Best to give praise where praise is due
Every rook and jay in the Corvidae
Has been Raven about me too
They admire me, one and all
Must be the passion in my caw
My slender bill known through the escadrille
My fierce commanding claw!"

"Ah, I've got a Walnut-brownie-brain
And molasses in my veins
Crushed graham cracker crust
My powdered sugar funnel cake cocaine
Let the crescent cookie rise
These carob-colored almond eyes

Would rest to see my cashew princess
In the swirling marble sky
And we'll rest upon the knee
Where all divisions cease to be
A root-beer float, in our banana boat
Across the tapioca sea
When letting all attachments go
Is the only prayer we know
May it be so, may it be so, may it be so."