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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.

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