Oh roll of thunder hear my cry

I just got a dirt clod in my eye

A hundred feet they beat asunder

Atop my centipede of wonder

Never do I turn my head

For falling off’s my biggest dread.

Not that I’d have far to fall

For a centipede’s not tall at all

But his feet, my dear, are a hundred numbered

Yet he never finds himself encumbered

He ties his shoes so they don’t come loose

With a slip-knot, square-knot,  half-hitch noose

Until next time  . . . I love you