Array ( [sid] => 185668 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => A Dinner Table Fable [time] => 2018-12-11 22:02:00 [hometext] => Better to be the diner, than the dinner. [bodytext] => The fox couldn’t swim, cross the brook that kept him From his den on the opposite shore.
With a chicken hed scored from the farmhouse next door packed in a sack that he bore.
He was offered a ride to the opposite side by a clever old crocodile;
Who tried to beguile in his very best style, with his friendliest crocodile smile.

The fox was judicious, and very suspicious, No thank you, he quickly replied.
I have a plan and I’m certain I can get home without needing a ride.

He gathered up stones, and all night hed thrown them into the brook side to side.
By early next morning, a pathway was forming, the rocks let him walk high and dry.
Tipped his hat to the crock, took his sack and he crossed, back to his family again.
They all celebrated a meal long awaited, and into the pot went the hen!

A fine feast was prepared and the story was shared, while the little ones chewed on the bones;
And so the tale goes, the fox wisely chose the path he knew best to get home.
The crock never lived who offered to give a plump little fox a free ride;
Cause a smile on a crock, more likely than not, means his passengers riding inside. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 50 [topic] => 7 [informant] => softerware [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => HumorPoetry ) Your Poetry Dot Com - A Dinner Table Fable


A Dinner Table Fable
Date: Tuesday, 11th December 2018 @ 10:02:00 PM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: softerware
The fox couldn’t swim, cross the brook that kept him From his den on the opposite shore.
With a chicken hed scored from the farmhouse next door packed in a sack that he bore.
He was offered a ride to the opposite side by a clever old crocodile;
Who tried to beguile in his very best style, with his friendliest crocodile smile.

The fox was judicious, and very suspicious, No thank you, he quickly replied.
I have a plan and I’m certain I can get home without needing a ride.

He gathered up stones, and all night hed thrown them into the brook side to side.
By early next morning, a pathway was forming, the rocks let him walk high and dry.
Tipped his hat to the crock, took his sack and he crossed, back to his family again.
They all celebrated a meal long awaited, and into the pot went the hen!

A fine feast was prepared and the story was shared, while the little ones chewed on the bones;
And so the tale goes, the fox wisely chose the path he knew best to get home.
The crock never lived who offered to give a plump little fox a free ride;
Cause a smile on a crock, more likely than not, means his passengers riding inside.

This poem is Copyright © softerware


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