"Why do they always have to carry a stick?"
Why does the hand it firmly clasp
Upon the throat of lofty switch?
No moment's peace or calming air to grasp
When boy and timber find their niche.
Travel thee, without thy stock
A theory no further from the truth could be
Abrasions suffered and stitches nigh
When boys take flight and seldom walk.
Physicians you will need to see,
The parents shake their heads and sigh.
What brings you son, this weapon to collect?
The unseen force from compass points compel,
Unearthly bond this branch and flesh connect,
Too quick to see the hand that rings your brother's bell.
Spring forth thy sibling, for his head to cleave,
And marks upon his person make,
With ample skill and eager wood,
Your playful nature to relieve,
A limb to split, a bone to break,
For boys, no other path is understood.
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