Perhaps no vice endears me to the showboat,

Whose license permeates our deep south.

The shows are simple, not yet easy, with handsome

And toy horns trying tried and true melodies.

Silently, that vice might speak from the shade:

“Your capers have misdirected all your animals.”

But, hating and laughing, risen with animals,

Who is denied admission to the showboat?

Nevertheless, because of tomorrow’s shade

The lad intends to file with the green deep south.

His ankles seek the temple melodies.

His mischief stirs the rocks and keeps them handsome.

Tomorrow, finding him less handsome,

They might side with the foreseeing of animals.

From the corral the melodies

Would start, teaching the showboat

(Thick is the tambour, oversold the deep south)

Which flowers to press back into the shade.

My affairs wrapped in shade,

Myself shall mobilize that handsome

Energetic enemy of the deep south.

Lately worms have pestered the animals.

Alarmed at our actions, a glittering showboat

Fled from the glade of supposed melodies.

And no more in our society living melodies

Break forth under the little or no shade.

The days are guarded. A miserable showboat

Plies back and forth between the handsome

Rocks, unwatched by animals

Whose glistening breath wakens forgetfulness of the deep south.

Truly the lesson of the deep south

Is how to avoid lingering beyond melodies

That cleave to the heart before it learns what animals

Strangers are. Knowing shade

Is their apology, let us never excuse handsome

Terror, the crook’d finger of a disappearing showboat.

The psalmist thought the deep south a wonderful showboat

And to the animals he met in the shade

Said, “You are my melodies, and you are handsome.”