The Lore

December 3, 2011
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It was Halloween night,

And nothing to do,

So I sat to watch Nick,

And watched a little show.
I was resting in my living room,

When I heard a lore on TV,

I was listening while sweeping with a broom,

While under my feet was my cat, Harvey.
Now the lore was coming to an end,

I felt a shiver go down my spine,

Up until the bend,

But then I was just fine.
The lore was about a boy,

A boy learning this lovely lore,

The lore was filled with joy,

But not anymore.
Because the lore was filled with happiness,

With all that happened to him, sadly the boy did not,

For the original lore was thatnever trust a waitress,

But for the boys sake, never trust a chef,

For with a knife,

It could be your last night.
The lore is about a waitress,
The kids said never to trust,
For they have no happiness,
In the food which they thrust.

So as the lore comes to a surcease,
The boy puts on his coat,
He leaves the door open a crease,
An leaves the island on his boat.

After an hour,
He arrives into town,
He orders something sour,
From the local diner.

It is lemon-lime pie,
Yes a good treat,
Meeting everyone’s eye,
Carefully watching the waitresses every meet.

He then orders a sundae,
For then that is enough,
He goes to pay the waitress Monday,
He thinks five is enough,

He heads out the door,
To the back of the diner,
When a door opens scrapping the floor,
He looks up to see a chef, nothing finer.

The chef says “Come in Boy.”—
He does as he is told,
The chef offers him candy, Oh, what a joy,
He then sits with his hands a fold.
The chef asks him his name,
He says Charles,
He says it is a tame name,
For he likes Charles.

Then Charles took a look around the kitchen,
Thinking isn’t neat,
But was he really a chicken,
For what was coming, was not a treat.

The chef grabs a knife,
Charles asks what it is for,
He says it’s for him,
Because he was poor.

Charles says “Why am I poor?”—
He says a five dollar tip,
The boy says that a lot,
The chef says ten is.

He takes out a five,
Hands it to the chef,
The chef gives it back,
For it is a trick.

The boy runs for the door,
The chef throws the knife,
Charles hits the floor,
Is this his last night
A waitress steps in,
And sees the boy,
Lying half dead,
She picks him up,
For she runs to the hospital,
Hoping not to her his last beat or breath.

Thump Thump, Thump Thump.

They reach the hospital,
He is in right away,
For waitresses are hospitable,
And chefs are not.

The boy wakes up,
To the small of roses,
He asks “wat sup?”—
The waitress held her nose.

The waitress asked if he remembered the knife,
For of course he did,
She was sure it was his last night,
But he proved her wrong as so did Hid.

The chef was Hid,
And he was Charles,
Charles was ok as the nurses said he would,
But one more minute and it would have been his---
Last hour.

But it wasn’t as everyone filled with joy,
For this was a happy moment,
For all the enjoy,
The boy was ok, no longer wounded
The chef was fired,
And that is that,
Hope you enjoyed the lore, for it was mild,
And like I said “That is THAT!”

Now after that lore,
I napped a nice nine minutes,
For I was scared,
To leave my cabin.

I called my friends,
Told them the lore,
Said I can’t go to diner with them,
Because I was as scared a cat, of chefs of course.

They laughed and giggled,
And sure made jokes,
But I have been scared my whole life,
Because of that little---

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