Hark, hark, and arooo!

Here’s a story that’s true,

Set deep in a forest of spruce,

For the poetry slam

By the old beaver dam,

Declaimed by one sensitive moose.

For your night be adorned

With the mightiest horns

Or a lord of the rankest wallow,

But time after time,

It’s the Moose that can rhyme

That the cute lady mooses will follow.

In the far days of yore,

In the old here-to-fore,

When herbivores bounded carefree,

There lived a fine Moose

Named Young Bagaduce

Underneath of an old willow tree.

One morning, as Bagaduce blundered about,

He spied the fair Ms. Honeysuckle.

Her dainty wee hoof

Caused his brain to go POOF!

And three of his four knees did buckle.

“OH, MS. HONEYSUCKLE!”

Young Bagaduce cried.

“Of Quadrapeds, you are the queen!

I’ll write you a sonnet!

I’ll buy you a bonnet!

I’ll… I’ll… I’ll…”

“Go take a bath and get clean!”

“But Ms. Honeysuckle—” She just shook her head.

“Bagaduce, you're a handsome young lunk.

But to capture my heart,

You must now depart

For the far shores of Lake Muskadunk.

“For they say in the shallows of Dead Moose Cove,

‘There’s a pondweed that grows near the shore!

So tender and sweet,

Such a succulent treat.

I want lots and lots and lots more!’”

Young Bagaduce shivered. Young Bagaduce shook.

He stuttered but uttered no sound,

For no Moose who had splooshed into Muskadunk Lake

Had ever again been found.

And Tales were told

From the days of old

Of a monster, half Moose and half trout,

Who dragged Pathing strangers down under the waves

And nevermore did they come out.

“But Ms. Honeysuckle—” She batted her eye

And waggled her cute little tail,

And Bagaduce bellowed, “I am your Moose!

I will fetch you the weed without fail!”

So, strapping a sack

Across his broad back,

Off this brave Moose did gallump.

His pace did not slacken.

He crashed through the bracken.

“Onward to Lake Muskadunk!”

And late in the day,

As the sun slunk away

And the thickets grew thicker than thick,

The air became dank

With an odor most rank

That made Bagaduce feel dreadful sick.

An ominous omen appeared overhead,

A-buttered all bulbous and black.

“Alas and alack!” Young Bagaduce said.

“I fear I had better turn back.”

But all of a sudden, he burst through the brush

And into a twilight of gloom,

And splooping and larroping up to his hooves

Came splooshing the waters of doom.

Muskadunk Lake, Dead Moose Cove—

The waters did gurgle and glug.

“She wished it was a bathtub,” Young Bagaduce said,

“Then I could plow the plug.”

And into the sky,

Like a great evil eye,

The moon floated, bloated and red.

And Bagaduce said to his Bagaduce self,

“Uh, self, I’m afraid we is dead.”

But into his brain,

Ms. Honey, she came

And she whispered, “Hello there, cute moosey!”

And Bagaduce bellowed, “I’ll fetch the pondweed

Or my name is not Young Bagaduce-y!”

So into the tide,

He waited with pride

Until he was up to his knees

And plunging his noble snout under the waves,

He snorkeled about for pondweed.

And hark, there it was, in the waters so dark,

That sweet gastronomical stack!

Young Bagaduce ripped it up by the roots

And stuffed it all into his sack.

But as he was stuffing the very last stock,

His soul of a sudden did quake.

For out of the night,

A moose-terious sight

Came looming up out of the lake.

His heart filled with dread.

His feet felt like lead.

He stumbled up onto the beach,

But closer and closer and closer it slammed

Until it was well within reach.

Then suddenly, breaking the surface, he saw...

GASP!

...the head of a beautiful Moose!

With earrings did dangled

And sparkled and spangled

And lips red as raspberry juice.

As lovely a Moose

As Young Bagaduce

Forever and ever could wish.

But wait, there was scales

And a big flumpy tail.

Her body was that of a fish.

For it was the Mermoose of Muskadunk Lake,

Long lost in legend and lore.

“Hello, Bagaduce,

You cute little Moose!

Don’t stand over there on the shore!

The water is warm.

I will do you no harm.

Come in for a splash and a swim!

I’ll croon you a tune

’Neath the light of the moon.

I will cater to your every whim.”

“Who are you?” said Young Bagaduce, twitching in fright.

“How come do you look so bizarre?”

“I’m a mermoose!” she said

With a toss of her head.

“That’s how come, I am like I are.

My mom was a moosey, my dad was a fish

And out of this union came too.

A four-footed trout and a mermoose, myself,

And I’m just the right mermoose for you.”

“A four-footed trout?!” Young Bagaduce cried.

“What sort of a beastie is he?”