|There was a family named Times,
who lived the very best they could.
Yet somehow they still found a way
to irritate the neighborhood.
There went the dad--his name was Hard--
he saw some tools upon a shelf.
Though they were in another garage,
he went inside to help himself.
The mom, named Good, of this Times’ clan,
was very good to hubby, Hard.
Yet she would trim forsythia
and toss the clippings through the yard.
Two was the older of the kids,
a strapping lad with long, blonde hair.
He liked to look through window panes
because he wondered what was there.
Then Old, of course, was not as old,
yet she was still a pretty girl.
She longed to be a majorette,
so with baton she’d always twirl.
(Of course, to twirl is not so wrong--
it’s nothing short of being sweet.
Yet Old would twirl and toss it high
while in the center of the street.)
But then, alas, it happened that
a car was damaged by the lass.
She tossed it high into the air,
and it crashed through some window glass.
[When Old looked hard at Good and Two,
it wasn’t Hard that looked at Good.
But Two told Good that it was Hard
who knew that Old had understood.]
Hard’s older sister came along--
and Better was her given name.
There was a bit of dressing down,
so things were never quite the same.
One day the Times sat down and jawed
about what made the neighbors mad.
From Better came a talking to--
and now the Times are not so bad.
[Rhythm: 8] (Lines: 40)
Writer’s Cramp; June 25, 2012
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