By Joan Vaughan-Taylor
We’d known them both as country boys who’d lived near Fable Creek—
Young Trevor Tortus, slow at school, the other Harry Hare.
They visited old Lesop’s pub at least three times a week
To have a drink, to place a bet and on the counter swear
Their strong determination, to finally succeed
In making many millions for the tavern auction, set
When Eesop, tired of slavery, eventually agreed
To sell off all his property, if they would lay a bet
On who would make fat fortune, and be the lucky first
To turn up with the highest bid, all there in ready cash.
Thus story teller Eesop could be properly imbursed
To publish moralistic tales and make a famous splash.
The race began at once, we hear, and Harry worked so hard
To earn an honest crust himself and pay inflated price.
But crafty Trevor taught us all that he’d show no regard
For helping on the family farm, or making sacrifice.
He loafed and lazed around the place, used other people’s money,
Did much insider trading, and juggled stocks and shares.
When reading of him recently, it didn’t seem so funny
That tortoises in tallish tales win races against hares.
Well, anyway, a year ago, they tore the old inn down
Then sold it for development — those dear high rise affairs.
Unfortunately Harry boy has had to leave the town
Where rent is quite exorbitant — beyond the reach of hares.
I s’pose there is a moral, if you would care to look? —
If you want to be successful you will have to be a crook!
