June 30, 2018
Last time it rained I heard a sound—
A sound you don’t want to hear—
A drip drip dripping inside the house—
A leak in the ceiling, oh dear.
So up to the attic I hoisted myself
And next to the whirly thing,
There on the boards inside the roof,
A damply ominous ring.
Roofer came quick, he diagnosed,
A ‘lifted nail’ declared,
But roof still wet so he’d have to wait;
His neck he could not spare.
Some days went by.
And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of six tiny hooves.
Only it was three medium-size men.
And guess what they found?
A bullet hole!
I guess the bullet might still be there—
I’d kind of like to see it.
But to sift through the attic in Texas in June
I just do not foresee it.