With its ripe and golden grain,
‘Round a waist-high prairie meadow
Wound a pot-hole riddled lane.
It was there a shallow puddle
Where a sign read, “Zoned – No wake,”
(Named with hopeful aspirations)
Was the pond called Mammoth Lake.
Now the puddle, at its broadest point
Was scarcely ten feet wide,
And submerged within its shallow depths
A catfish did reside.
A well-educated catfish
For he’d memorized the rules
So he’d graduate—top of his class
At Small Fry Catfish School.