Deep in a forest
In some ancient year
Lived the grandest buck ever,
The king of the deer.
His antlers were mountains.
Sun and moon were his eyes.
There was nothing more massive
Or nearly as wise.
He spoke only truths
And healed all ills.
His laughter was music.
His teardrops were hills.
This primeval buck
Made all that’s good, fair, and lush
But his name was “Pookums”
So you don’t hear of him much.
The Daily Travesty 