Through mostly vacant streets,
A baker on the out-skirts of his town,
Earned his living pedaling sweets from a ragged cart he dragged around.
The clever fox crept close behind,
Kept an ever watchful eye,
For a chance to steal a ginger spicecake,
Or a boysenberry pie.

Looking down was the hungry crow:
"When the time is right, I'll strike,
And condescend to the earth below
And take whichever treat I'd like."
The moment the baker turned around
To shoo the fox off from his cart,
The crow swooped down,
And snatched a shortbread cookie and a German chocolate tart.

Using most unfriendly words,
That the village children had not yet heard,
The baker shouted threats by canzonet to curse the crafty bird.
"You rotten wooden mixing spoon,!
Why, you midnight winged raccoon!
You better bring those pastries back, you no good, burnt,-black macaroon!"

The fox approached the tree
Where the bird was perched, delighted in his nest.
"Brother Crow, don't you remember me?
It's your old friend Fox with a humble request.
If you could share just a modest piece,
Seeing as I distracted that awful man."
This failed to persuade the crow,
So the fox rethought his plan.

"Then if your lovely song would grace my ears,
Or to even to hear you speak,
Would ease my pains and fears!"
The crow looked down with the candy in his beak.
"Your pearls of wisdom, my good crow,
What a paradise they bring!"
This flattery pleased the proud bird so,
He opened his mouth and began to sing:

"Your subtle acclimation's true,
Best to give praise where praise is due.
Every rook and jay in the Corvidae
Has been Raven about me too.
They admire me, one and all,
Must be the passion in my caw,
My slender bill known through the escadrille,
My fierce commanding claw!"

"The cookie drops, the fox retrieves it,
There is commotion in the town
As the baker gives chase
The crow is humiliated,
Realizes he's been tricked,
Continues his song."

"Ah, I've got a Walnut-brownie-brain,
And molasses in my veins,
Crushed graham cracker crust,
My powdered sugar funnel cake cocaine.
Let the crescent cookie rise,
These carob-colored almond eyes,
Would rest to see my cashew princess,
In the swirling marble sky.
And we'll rest upon the knee,
Where all divisions cease to be,
A root-beer float, in our banana boat,
Across the tapioca sea,
When letting all attachments go,
Is the only prayer we know...
May it be so, may it be so, may it be so."