The Ballad of Vroman’s Nose

And so Leigh came home, with a word from Coach Hay,
A proposition, an offer, “to join us, you may.”
Oh? We can enlist, in a minor endeavor?
Yet a jaunt we’ll remember, For ever and ever?

Thus, we arrived at the, time and location,
In the dark, cold we waited, without frustration.
Coach Hay screeched up, with a grin ear-to-ear,
He snidely observed, “Ah, new blood this year.”

“See Vroman’s Nose? Yon high peak afar?
To the top you & I will haul this bright Christmas star.”
“So, come on along, we’ll laugh and make merry,
Oh, by the way, there’s a few things to carry.”

You want us to do what?  You’re all nucking futs,
Certifiably crazy,  no ifs, ands, or buts.
He strode off to the trail, all 8 feet of him.
To the hell he would lead us, we had not a whim.

Loaded with batteries, paraphernalia and wood,
We trudged through the snow, as best as we could.
He started out strong,  manly, a winner,
but soon crawling, he moaned, “Too much Christmas dinner!”

So pitiful he was, the girls shouldered his burden,
“Now will you stop whining? We can’t get a word in.”
Onward and upward, he drove us hours non-stop,
Cold, tired, and starving, ’til we reached the top.

We built the star, with fingers numb.
“Zip-tie challenged?” he sneered, “Geez, you’re dumb!”
He took his pack off of Brett, as her head he did pat.
And it was like magic, what he took out of that.

He looked like St. Nick, To Cindy Lou Who,
“I have gadgets galore, right up the wazoo!”
“I’ve bought loads of stuff, from Cabela’s and Bean’s
Whatever the challenge, I’ll have the means!”

To our utter amazement, a tipi appeared.
A stove and a chimney, soon had us some cheered.
“Bring wood” he demanded, “Don’t give me no sass!
Just bring it on in, while I sit on my tarp.”

“This wood will not do, It’s pithy and wet!
You’re the poorest excuse, for a woodsman I’ve met!”
Joe begged and he pleaded, Broke his knee in a fall.
Coach Hay had no pity, “You have two after all!”

The stove, he promised, soon would glow cherry red,
As we shivered in cold, “It’s black cherry!”, he said.
Then Palmer the muffin-hatted, brought forth a twig,
Saving our lives, though, it was neither sturdy nor  big.

For a full 0.5 seconds, the life giving heat,
Soon gave us to know, our maker we’d not meet.
Now we’ll always remember, in song and in prose,
That it was Coach Hay, who picked Vroman’s Nose.


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