ODE TO OUR BROWNTOWN FLAG
Fly on you wretched bag
Fowler of water
Choker of fowl
To think that such a bag
A cursed thing
Of polymers and oil
Can cause such stress
Can generate such toil
Should I say
I have seen them
wandering through parking lots
Carrying wilted loaves of bread
And melting cheeses
Without you?
Searching for their ride
In vast parking lots
Without you
Oh wretched bag
Fowler of water
Choker of drains
Fly on
The magistrate at city hall
Found ways to make some gold
By ordering that your use in stores
Be put on hold...
And generating coin
And gold...
A street sweeper, a truck
A trail for bikes
A pond for ducks
Until the far-off sheriff of the king
Ordered Browntown to"Desist"
"Thou cannot charge a fee."
So now you fly
Unwanted on mesquites
Or fences, or clog the ditch
Choker of drains,
To think one day
You would become
A boon for city coffers
A source of wealth for some
A waterer of fowl
For merchants,
A purse of gold
Oh cursed bag
Fly on
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