I once found a little owl playing amongst the thicket
he curiously waved a little stick and then began to lick it
of all your toes I do oppose your having only three
To this request, the owl got dressed and flew up to the tree
the thicket then in mighty woe began to stir and fidget
for it had lost its only friend Benedictus the midget
But hold on now, you don't suppose the owl was Benedictus
it had toes three, flew up a tree if we held sticks it licked us
His seemingly rather eccentric ways evolved when he was younger
had he not been the pope you see, he would have died of hunger
Two were the source of his belief, three toes he now had sprouted
and that's the reason, little bee, that he had always shouted
I'm not a bee, I hold no stick, I claim to be the reader
Your claim then is by far unjust, for books aren't merely made of dust
They're made of withered sticks and sap, I bid farewell to you old chap
And if by chance you were a bee, you are a true believer

The ostentatious cucumber

"All vegetables are immortal".
The cucumber resolved his precarious remark with a flamboyant dance of virility.
He wavered his rod, and hammered a cod, who dazed had to walk back to Ility.
He then fell in distress, for the cod was a mess, and could probably sue him for money.
So he married a bee, bought a house by the sea, and promised to pay him in honey.
He was fond of the cause, had provoked an applause, and was boasting his way of acquittal.
But when chopped by the knife, in the sandwich he went, turns out life is unnervingly brittle.

[1] If Lewis Caroll was allowed to be silly, I don't see why I should be serious.