"It's hunting we were, myself and McSnitt,
When a fog rumbled in from the ocean;
So thick did it get and so compact and wet
That it seemed the whole world was in motion.
"To get up above it we clambered a hill,
Both eager to get to the summit.
The fog, gray and thick, everywhere seemed to stick
In our path, and proceeded to gum it.
"It tangled our knees and strung down from the trees,
Thus impeding our efforts at walking.
With the wind in the south, it blew in our mouth,
And prevented both breathing and talking.
"Great gobs of the stuff, rolling fast down the bluff,
Kept the pair of us dodging and jumping--
If we had got hit, then McSnort or McSnitt
Would be nit, and our fear kept us humping.
"At last near the top, on my face did I flop;
While McSnitt still continued to travel--
Walked right off a cliff on a dense foggy drift
That was firm as a driveway of gravel.
"He walked for a mile in an elegant style,
And then--as I tell it you'll shudder--
A runaway plane with a pilot insane
Knocked him off with a side-swiping rudder.
"He tumbled quite neat, for some twelve thousand feet,
And then, as he slowed for a landing,
A flag pole, by chance, caught the seat of his pants,
Which the rush of the wind was expanding.
"The people below seemed to think it a show,
And they stared up at Mac with a twitter.
They thought that McSnitt was just doing his bit
Of an act as a champ flag-pole sitter.
"So they stared up at Mac, and he stared them right back,
And both stared all the law was allowing,
Till the stares grew so thick, Mac tore loose with a kick,
And walked down the stairs, grandly bowing."
--Author: LeRoy W. Snell
--Source: OCR scan of a copy of text typed on a manual typewriter by LeRoy Behling (with some minor corrections for OCR and typing errors and to clean up the formatting)