You might think me noble and grand,
An animal graceful and fine.
But things often go unplanned
With antlers as big as mine.
Many others do greatly admire
The horns that come out of my head.
But the truth is I would be a liar
If "I loved them" is what I had said.
You see they are quite the hardship
To carry around all of my life.
They feel just as big as a starship
And they've caused me nothing but strife.
Let's begin with an obvious quandary-
On all things my head decor catches.
When somebody line dries their laundry,
On horns, you bet underwear snatches.
Do you know that others will snicker?
They're hard to remove, you really should know.
It's awkward, in your horns, to have knickers
When you're trying to talk to a doe.
And they're not very good for my balance.
Really, to put it quite plainly,
Walking round with these things takes some talents.
What really can make a stag cry
While enjoying some grass neath a birch,
Is some rotten wren, crow or magpie
Will use my poor head as a perch.
Who should be respectful and meek.
You'd think they had gear and a harness
When climbing antlers as if they're Pike's Peak.
The cruel squirrels all call me mean names,
They yell "coat rack", "prong head" to debase.
They throw nuts tween my horns as a game,
Which hurt as they bounce off my face.
That'd put me in a really deep funk.
My antlers could get stuck in a fir,
Or I could be treated like they all do the skunk...
