T'was two hours before work when all through the house not a creature was stirring not even on the couch. Jess was passed out on the sofa I dare, say from thinking of nursing and baby talking care. Eliot was rockin' alone in our room dreaming of breasts and better times in the womb. I myself am here busting a rhyme, What you lookin at honkey, Is being a mutha f ah such a crime!?
When up stairs I heard such a clatter, I thought of asking Stampy what was the matter.
On prancing, on marching, on being to loud, one could always look to Stampy: the home elephant-crowd.
Across the floor this Bonny-doon marched, upsetting a center-piece while uprooting a larch.
He was not to quick nor was he to graceful but what talents he lacked he made sounds by the crateful.
He was not embarrassed by his clomping around, he seemed unaware of his massive sound.
I have told him many times his sounds were the worst so this Christmas I am telling him in fair verse.
I am relying on you to forward this missive, It is so much harder to of peers be dismissive. So when you see friends being a touch rude and loud, tell them you run with a quiet polite crowd.
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