Fye, fye! 'Tis water that bubbles above,
A murky brewing of earth, frizz and froth.
Created whence the sprinklers did tinkle,
And spews a swimming hole, for wasp and ant,
Which flail about or sink and alas drown.
But what, pray tell, is the cause of such mess?
What action emenates this doom and gloom?
Was it terrorist, or natural spoil?
Or the by-blow of a tree's extraction?
Oh wondering roots, this Rose o' Sharon,
Did thee castrate thy water's embrace burst?
"Shiz knuckle!" he says, "Fetch my bailing cup,"
"Must remove this foul and moist pit of goop."
Thy brows reveal anguish and gnash and gnarl,
For goop has blinded thy punctured agent.
Oh happy stream bed upon which we built,
To bury and rest all flow'ring blooms!
'Tis muddy now, a place without beauty,
A crime scene of sorts, to sleuth and detect.
With elbows all marshy and knees a soil,
The sun has gone thither and darkness looms.
Ye stands right straight up, with creaking and clank,
From toil and proof, declares with conviction,
"The pipe is all broke! The pipe is all broke!"