No Time for Routine

The Lep, has washed hands of St. Pat’s, does lean and fiddles in space, against tree, routine. The pot at the end of sun, was found a bit late; one won. Lep’s blind to the coot who handles gold-green. After his fiddling, is over and done, Lep gets to a-counting, his coins, for fun. He scratches his head, and blows his stack, as he rips his clothes. On hunt, Lep will go, round up rat, with gun. Not fair, when the sun has gone down; coot cheats. Now poor, Lep must find ev’ry coin on streets. The pot, has been stirred, like bees; emptied by the rat - he’ll seize. Lep’s gun (is a cane) - an instrument that beats. The fool and Lep’s money was found..tick-tock. “If you found my gold, before snooze of clock, then all would be fair…it’s not. If I have a gun, you’re shot. Instead, you, I cane, outline you with chalk.” Old coot, parts with gold, awakens dizzy. He coughs, and he laughs, at the Lep’s tizzy. Next year, he must beat the clock. and keep, in pocket, a glock. For gold, the rat baits; the fiddler’s busy.