SONG CHALLENGE WINNER!

The Song Challenge:   Digging herself in deeper and deeper -- Yep, it's your one and only Giver-uupper of the Golden Cow Chips, back from the 'moving' wars and ready to test your little gray cells once again!! I'll just take this opportunity to let all you wonderful Challenge!rs know how much I've missed you -- and I hope we won't ever be parted for so long again . . . This Challenge! will be sorta personal, if y'all don't mind too much ;-) . . . I do think, however, that it will test your collective imagination and rhyming capabilities satisfactorily . . . Here's a picture of the new homestead, perched appropriately on a high sandstone hill in the Post Oak Savannah of Texas (the East Cross Timbers, to be exact). Please note the sandstone wall on the left . . . behind that wall is a curious little patch of broken stones, buried in a sandy clay loam, quite different from the rest of the grounds (you can't 'dig' here -- there's one inch of dirt, then rock, then THICK wet (not damp) clay).  I've been digging and breaking rocks with my trusty spade and pickaxe for two weeks now, and I still haven't reached the bottom of this strange plot of earth. However, I have discovered a few interesting things buried under the first layer of dirt and rock . . . your Challenge! is to write a song about what I found buried beneath the red-tipped photinias, honeysuckle and asian jasmine . . . let your minds run wild and let your collective freak flags fly, my dear Challenge!rs and GO FOT IT!  Hugs and snogs to each and every one of you -- and two kisses on each of your cheeks (hahaha) -- Áine (songtress, chef, chief bottle washer and now Mad Gardener)


Áine's Mysterious Mud by mousethief (a/k/a Alex Riggle)

Well now I ain't superstitious
And I don't get fooled a lot
But I got a might suspicious
At the subsoil on my plot

Everywhere it's soft and loamy
'Cept for one place right out back
Where the rocks are big as softballs
And the soggy clay is black

So I got my pick and shovel
And began to dig and pry
Hoping I would soon discover
What was hidden to the eye

For a week I scraped and scrappled
Bruised my shins and stained my clothes
But I wouldn't be discouraged
Though the sun had burned my nose

My husband thought me batty
The grandkids thought me daft
But I was happy digging
In my home-made mining shaft

And when the week was ended
I hit something hard like wood
I carefully uncovered it
And there beside it stood

It was a wooden coffin
And so carefully I pried
The lid came off and Jimmy Hoffa's
Body was inside.

(C) Alex Riggle 2001 All rights reserved.

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