“Hello, little boy! I have many dried plants
But the problem is I need them in these sacks
The sacks are small and velvet
With embroidered silver moons
See? They’re sitting in the closet with the axe.
So your job, little boy, and I’ll pay you for your work,
Is to cut the plants to pieces neat and round
Then you’ll stuff them in the sacks
From the closet with the axe
And I’ll pay you for your cutting by the pound.”
So the little boy sat, by the closet with the axe
And he cut the plants to pieces neat and round
He was working on his knees
And the plant-dust made him sneeze
And it took him fifteen hours to trim a pound.
He was there for many weeks, color draining from his cheeks
Scissors snipping ‘til the plants were cut to size
Then he stuffed them in the sacks
Brushed the leaf bits from his slacks
And lay down a while to rest his weary eyes.
“Why, hello, little boy! You have cut these very well!
I will take these sacks and pay you by the weight.”
“Good, great,” said the boy. “Good, great,” said the man.
“Good, great,” said them both. “Good, great.”
It was all good great, ‘til the boy said, “What’s the fate
Of all these sacks? Where are they sent? Where do they go?”
And the man said, “Shh,”
And gave the boy a red balloon
And said: “Now that is not a thing for you to know.”
The room was quiet. Then—
‘SMASH!’ and the closet axe crashed!
And a violent ‘ZOP!’ and the red balloon popped!
And a terrible ‘OOF!’ and the man went ‘POOF!’
And transformed into a wizard on the spot
And he summoned forth the sacks
And he summoned forth the axe
And the boy said, “Oh, I see! You’re growing pot.”
