“When the gourds are gone…”
is when the swords are drawn.
But when there’s gourds aplenty,
we think of twenty-twenty.
We’ve had our share of gourds with bumps,
elongated humpty humps,
gourds with stripes and pumpkins blue,
twisted gourds from Bonzai Two.
“No more gourds,” we scream to God.
“They’re morphing into something odd.”
Arisen in the street, new Lords,
dogma spouting Christian gourds.
“You’ll not squash us any more!
We’re not the gourds we were before.”