The Rising Dawn
I saw a man, his head bowed low –
And walking through the crystal snow
He plodded on, as plodders do,
He must have walked the whole night through.
His face was grim, his cheeks were gray,
Upon his brow a vain cliche.
His trench coat fluttered in the breeze
His shotgun readied for zombies.
Behind him, staining whiteness red,
The body parts of the undead.
His valiant effort was in vain
As I jumped out and ate his brain.
The Umlaut
I saw a man, and I cried out –
Above his head, a large umlaut!
He turned, and staring right at me
He told me of the mutiny.
His crew they were a motley bunch
And mostly Pennsylvania Dutch.
His ship was sailing for lost gold
Through icy waters unpatrolled.
"The crew got sick and tired of this
I think they wanted island bliss.
So they uprose and cast me off
With but a jug of ale to quaff.
Before they let me go they said:
‘Let’s fix this umlaut on his head!’
And so I am forever cursed:
An umlaut cannot be dispersed."
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