Ask not for whom the Orange rolls, foul villain. It rolls through the muck and mire for thee. For 'pon Thee who dropped it on the floor The blame must surely rest. You were witnessed in the act, We saw you, yes we did. When in the aisle number four, The passage closest the revolving door. You dropped that orange. It was observed How it made its way Through the dust lying thick upon the floor. Kicked by a small child, On reaching the checkout bay, It travelled far, journeyed long, But now it comes to rest. Now it is mine own behest, That you gentle man and true, Dispense your duty to the orange, Pick him up I say. Bend to the ground before me, Cower in mortal fear of retribution. God is watching pitiful creature of mud, Beware lest you raise his ire. The villain has fleed the crime, Now will I aid the victim, He has suffered for too long. I stoop, robed in the vestments of mercy, To save the gentle lad. The child's foot descends. Oblivion. "Hey kid, come back here, you gotta pay for it now."
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This work is Copyright (c) Mike Fletcher 1992