The moon peeked out from shrouds of cloud
Suspended over the chuck-holed road:
It wasn’t supposed to be there. No:
Forecasters forecast snow, and loads.
Pondering perhaps that spooky moon
A moose stood still athwart the road:
It wasn’t supposed to be there. No:
Just deer are here, or so we’re told.
“Look, dear,” said I, “A spooky moon!”
“That’s a moose, not deer,” said she.
“It’s not supposed to be here.” Oh!
Too late veered I, and struck a tree.
