This is a fable of blood and deceit—
Not for the faint-hearted or stomachs that are weak.
The tale, its author, the unpopular Father Gander,
Is told from his viewpoint with unflinching candor…
There once was a young man, known to most as Young Jack.
He liked it that way ’cause it cut him much slack—
For who could believe, that someone so young,
Would make fat Mrs. Sprat the brunt of a pun?
Or that Jack was the cause of Jill’s spill down the hill?
Indeed, Willie Winkie watched on from the mill.
And afterwards, poor Humpty—yes, Willie saw it all—
The push down the hill, the shove off the wall.
Now, Little Ms. Muffet too had her issues with Jack,
As did an Old Woman,
And a cat,
Except Ms. M’s love had been spurned by Jack thrice
And she swore to destroy him, whatever the price.
Indeed, she’d spun a plan whilst on her tuffet one day,
“I’ll employ an admirer to hunt down my prey!”
It just so happened that a giant, Sy Klep,
Had more than an eye for sweet little Muffet.
Therefore ‘twas to him a huge lie she professed.
Shivering, shaking, she feigned great distress,
Knowing full well he’d take off after Jack,
To save Muffet’s honor—yes, Sy did things like that.
With a kiss on his lips and a promise of more,
Sy bound from the house upon slamming the door
“I shan’t ever give up till I find that bum!”
Enraged, Sy ran off, his nose in the air,
But he couldn’t smell Jack, not his hide, nor his hair.
For months the dear cyclops lumbered about
Searching forest and field for that despicable lout.
Until finally he chanced upon Baaaa, a black sheep.
“We still have our wool,” she woefully bleat.
“It’s the white ones who’ve lost it
“Jack cropped, sheared, and tossed it,
“Before chasing them up that steep hill—”
Although Jack was nimble and known to be quick,
He could not outrun Sy and Sy’s walking stick, ‘Flick’.
For when Sy checked the wind and took aim at Jack’s back,
He flung Flick, and bingo! It laid the boy flat.
Then with a “FUM” a “FO, FEE” and a FI,”
Sy first, ground Jack’s bones into gooseberry pie,
Before returning to the love of his life
And asking Ms. Muffet, “Will you be my wife?”
Thus, the moral of this story asserts:
Beware of one-eyed-giants bearing just desserts.
Weird what a walk with my dogs and a trail of fur will inspire.
That, and a fondness for nursery rhymes and Fractured Fairy Tales. Remember those?
What were your favorites as a child?