In the days when an ankle was classed as erotic
and a traveling circus was labelled exotic,
an elephant broke from the caged and the barred
to graze in Great Grandma’s amazing backyard.
Having slipped the confines of that cramped circus cell,
it grew weary from plodding and hungry as hell.
It was then the beast spotted Gran’s sweet cabbage patch
and halted to feast on the flourishing batch.
Now Granny, short-sighted but far from infirm,
had never clapped eyes on a stray pachyderm.
With its swishing appendage and penchant to dine
she thought it no more than a roving bovine.
Having duly discovered the beefy leaf-thief,
she called up the police to impart all her grief
with a rare explanation in the realms of absurd,
for this cow was a few moos removed from the herd.
“Sergeant!” she cried, “There’s a cow in my crop;
it’s picking my yield with its tail and won’t stop!
When it plucks up each cabbage, my cheeks are aglow -
because where this cow shoves them, you don’t want to know!”