This is one of those poems that came to me
and I have no reason why! Imagine that Joyce Kilmer,
author of Trees, was really Elmer Fudd…
There are two versions—the “Fudd” version,
followed by a translation just in case
you need help figuring out the Fudd version!
I doubt I’ll eva bweak dis habit
Untilw I catch that wascally wabbit.
Dat wabbit, cwafty as a farwit,
Puhwing up my bestest carwits;
Teamed up with that scwewy duck,
Dey make me feel juss wike a schmuck.
The times I neahwy bwoke my neck
Or wound up in a nasty weck
Would scarw away a wessa hunter…
But I keep making the same old bwunder.
Fools wike me may twy to gwab it
But onwy God can catch that wabbit!
I doubt I’ll ever break this habit
Until I catch that rascally rabbit.
That rabbit, crafty as a ferret,
Pulling up my bestest carrots;
Teamed up with that screwy duck,
They make me feel just like a schmuck.
The times I nearly broke my neck
Or wound up in a nasty wreck
Would scare away a lesser hunter…
But I keep making the same old blunder.
Fools like me may try to grab it
But only God can catch that rabbit!