Stood a maple tree on guard,
Beneath it's tower,
Was my patio of power,
Where stories flowed from every bard,
My neighbors, relations and some I barely knew,
Would speak each's faults both false and true,
Conversations if in the public stew,
Many partakers would surely rue,
Then one day at my patio party,
The old maple tree started to talk,
Passing on such gossip,
I hoped that my guests would laugh and balk,
But, of all the loathsome stories,
That were tattle-tailed that day,
Was the one of my endless glories,
Regarding always having things my way,
Of course, my wife was there to hear,
The maples stories told to jeer,
My wife's behavior then took a steer,
And, she dumped down the drain my homemade beer,
Then, in her more anger there arose,
As she threw out all of my cloths,
And, she slapped off half my nose,
Then, stomped upon my twinkle toes,
I so surmised that this maple tree,
Really had it in for me,
So, I decided to act like a mid-evil Sax,
And, chopped down the tree with my double ax.
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