The Drought

Here is "The Drought", the third part of the Pincushion:

Part III: (The Drought)

Soon, All the Cherries
Were Moaning at the sight of
The Emus’ Long March

The Emus March, To
H’low’d ‘L’Tar ‘F Pveqinkr
To Unfreeze poor Pens

The Cherries Could not
Bear to Hear the sound of the
Slow-Approaching doom

Emus Are this Doom,
Plucking all the Poor cherries
From their Iron Trees

The tall Iron Trees
With all of their cherries plucked,
Would cry out for Pens

Pens would not come, though
This disheartened the trees so –
But he Did not Care

The “Doom” just “moved” on
Without one thought or one care
About wretched trees

With these poor cherries,
Their plan may be completed
Very Evilly

What They had to do
Was to gather the Cherries
To Sell to the Blob

The Relinquished Blob,
The Mighty one, would lend them
The Key to the Floor

When they Passed this Floor,
They would be one step Closer
To Reaching their Goal

The Trees, However
Would not give their great Fight
For their Silver Fruits

They were more valued
Than the Jiggerblank of Snoghll,
Or the big Bëltøv.

The trees objected,
So the emus gave them plums –
They were Satisfied

With no trees to fight
The Emus could just move on,
Through the big desert

Despite all their thirst,
They remembered the great words,
Which they will recite:

Quintessentially,
Iowa is Iowa
It’s mediocre