A song I have composéd,

While on the lute, a-plunkin’,

And what it is I thunk an’

Writ, is but an Ode to Punkin’.

 

You can have your pastries puffy,

You can have your donuts, dunkin’,

But I can’t resist (though some can)

Any pie of funky pumkin.

 

I come from Arkansas and

Some can say that I’m a bumpkin;

But no bum around this dump can

Say I do not jump for pumpkin.

 

Whether I’m on a mountain top,

Or in a cave spelunkin’,

Or with the cannibals in the jungle,

And my head is shrunken,

 

I am never happier than when

My teeth are deeply sunken

In a golden gunky lump of somethin’

That’s a hunk of pumpkin. 

 

Michael Roy, 2010