I once had a whirlwind romance,

with a snowman I’d met at a dance:

though his name, it was Dick,

he’d less carrot than stick,

and sweet bugger all in his pants.

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You'll often see them running

and chasing across the plains,

a rabbit skipping and laughing

at an eagle, in great pains.

But why's the eagle running,

surely he can fly?

Sadly he’s afraid of heights

and frightened he may die.

An eagle that can't fly,

well surely that's not right,

it's just like having an owl

who won't come out at night.

But then on...

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