Lucy the Moose met Kevin the Elk,
and she said, “You are a deer;
but don’t make your pitch Abercrombie and Fitch,
for your antlers look quite queer.
I’m from Alaska’s wild woods and sweet pastures -
from where, I ask, are you?
For the spread of your horns isn’t up to our norms -
have you tarried in a zoo?”
Kevin was shocked by her rude Moosey knocks,
and he said, “Well, in the Maine,
I have spent all my life looking hard for a wife
on the cold Siberian plain.
But I thought US gals would make far better pals,
so I wandered ‘cross the ice
from Monchegorsk through the hills of the Norsk,
but your language is not very nice!”
With their argument over, they munched on some clover,
and found it pleased them both.
In the willow and birch, they discovered a church,
and instinctively plighted their troth.
But they bickered quite soon by the light of the moon -
were they mooses, or moose or meese,
if together they stayed as an elk and his maid?
So they asked some travelling geese.
But the geese were all swans,
and the swans were soon gone,
so they looked for a man with a stick
that went Bang! and flamed red until Mooses were dead,
for their hearts with love were sick.
In the wetlands, the chumps were soon down in the dumps,
through the spring as the antlers of Kevin
grew ever more long with a mixture of prongs
that he felt could stab stars out of heaven.
But the more that they grew, the more Lucy knew
she could never keep faith with her Elk,
for she’d rather a pony instead of this phoney;
he hadn’t the brains of a whelk!
Though six feet at the shoulder, a brain like a boulder
was all Kevin had ‘tween the ears -
so Lucy turned heel, and went off to New Zealand
to find some intelligent steers.