tagNon-Erotic PoetryPom Pom Picking

Pom Pom Picking


Pom-pom Picking
Over the hills and far away,
Is a land where the pom-pom grows.
The flowers are neat and the fruits are sweet,
And they only come out when it snows.
When it's time to harvest the pom-poms
The pygmies turn out in twos,
One to gather the fruit in,
And the other to spread the news.
He climbs to the top of the pom-pom tree
And waves his semaphore flags,
While his friend shakes the branches around him,
And gathers the fruit in bags.
So if your hat has a tassel
Hanging for all to see,
Remember the place far, far away,
And the pygmy stuck up in a tree.
If he falls to his death from the branches,
For a pom-pom that you wouldn't buy,
Then go and sit in a corner
And hang your head and cry

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