Playing With Fire

Reminisce with me a while.

————

Jack put the cart behind the horse

then led Ed to the water—

accompanied by Jill, of course,

Pandora’s lovely daughter.

They married, but with cupboards bare,

excesses they’d eschew.

The many children they raised there

proved Jill knew what to do.

For many years they had few means;

a hut, a horse, a cow

which their son traded for three beans

as legend will avow.

Jack Junior’s other claim to fame

was jumping over wicks.

A lech and liar, pants caught fire.

Doctors found no fix.

The poor lad never could atone—

a Jack the Third they’d lack.

Alas, no lasses that he’d known

would say that they knew Jack.

Their eldest daughter Mary

kissed a frog who had a throne

and although quite contrary,

Mary never slept alone.

Their castle filled with progeny.

Their goose would lay each egg

of solid gold—autogeny

meant none of them need beg.

“Say hay!” Their talking horse, perforce,

helped promulgate their brand.

By teaching students, “Ed the Horse”

filled coffers on demand.

Thus, haply every after shod,

for years they followed Ed.

They’d smile and wink and blink and nod

in their cart’s trundle bed.

By Ken Gosse

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