The Oaf

The Oaf went lumbering down the street
Spitting out two-by-fours.
He cursed the clouds and cursed the cold
That hindered his autumn chores.

The leaves they crunched beneath his feet
A littering he abhors.

No dragon to slay, no beast to best
Yet anxiety kills the Oaf.
He plunks away at a tiny desk
Sweating to earn his loaf.

The cold it seeps into his brain
The fingers to work are loth.

The knight has set, the sun has died
The Oaf cries a-standing there.
November chill it seeps in deep
Right through its thinning hair.

But demons laugh a laugh so deep
Chuckling, they do not care.

“Now go away, O demon Cold!”
He shouts to the sky so drear.
Demons laugh and demons fly
Whispering hatred in his ear.

The Oaf by demons deep beset
Scratches his shaggy rear.