Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.
A mole dressed in taupe with a noose-knotted rope
meets up with the Pope on a slippery slope;
both have a hope that they can co-cope,
not look like a dope when fate deals a 'Nope'.
Then came the question, "What's up with the noose?"
asked the curious pontiff through a haze of Chartreuse.
"Who are you hanging? Could it be Mother Goose?"
The mole remained mute, had no lips that were loose.
The present conditions made progress a nil,
as neither could reach the top of the hill;
"Perhaps with the rope we can lasso a --" "Still!"
Mouthed the mole, "We will stay here until --"
"Until I snatch this rope from you, mole,
and cast it to loop over that hilltop pole.
We will succeed in both body and soul."
"You can suck seed from a six-foot-deep hole!"
The mole pulled a rusty, serrated knife,
"Freeze right there if you value your life!"
"Are you coming to bed?" said -- Oh, it's my wife.
Uhhh -- the pointy thing turned into a fife.
The End
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Author Notes
I was hoping this would go somewhere, but I couldn't get over that hill.
Thanks to wilsonmars for use of the picture
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