There was a Maid on Scrabble Hill,

And if not dead, she lives there still.

She grew so tall, she reached the sky,

And on the Moon, hung clothes to dry.

Now that was when the Moon was down,

For Scrabble Hill was out of town,

Where skies were never hot, nor wet,

Nor cold from dawn until sunset.

She’d far outgrown her large abode,

And slept on grass (where travellers rode),

Enjoying each nocturnal dream,

And washed her clothing in the stream.

When word got out: she needed space,

The townsfolk would avoid her place,

Until a lad of five foot three

Did wander out one day to see.

He met the maiden standing tall,

And saw her fetching down her shawl,

Which had by then completely dried

Upon the moon. It looked so wide.

He asked her what she chose to do

For food. She showed how berries grew

To giant size as well, to feed

Her mouth and tummy’s every need.

“But Maiden, do you not recall

The meat you ate, when you were small?”

He asked, “And since I’m made of meat,

Would you think I’d be nice to eat?”

She picked him up and placed him in

Her mouth, and then she did begin

To slide him from the moist pink moat,

To somewhere in her dainty throat.

But then she gave a gentle cough,

And used her skirt to dry him off.

“You would be nice to swallow dry,”

She said, “But might I ask you why?”

“Because you have such friendly eyes,

And I adore your giant size,”

He said, “But since you’d never feel

The same, I’d like to be a meal.”

“But tell me why would you presume,

That I would only have the room

Within my stomach, not my heart,

For you?” she said, like living art.

“Because I’m smaller than your tongue,

And lest I end up simply flung

Away, discarded like old pulp,”

He said, “I’d rather face your gulp.”

“It’s sweet of you to so provide

Yourself, but I would be your bride,”

She said, and so they chose to court,

Since she was such a lovely sort.

With all the world beyond to tour,

The boy decided life was pure

On Scrabble Hill with his tall maid,

And so for all his life, he stayed.

A girl his own size wandered by,

And said, “Since I am not so high,

Perhaps you’d like to leave with me

At night, and then I’ll set you free.”

“But I’m not trapped,” the lad assured

The girl, “I know that I was bored

With any normal girl, until

I found the Maid of Scrabble Hill.

And that is why I kept the gate

Forever closed on any date

I might have had, before I found

Her lips that high above the ground.”

The Maid soon learned that tasty cheese

Made up the moon, and chose to please

Herself, by eating all that grew,

Since it would instantly renew.

Perhaps the cow that made the leap

Got stuck up there, and, on the cheap,

Supplied the moon with dairy-light

For she who had attained such height.

The cheese supply and washing line

Was hers ‘til 1969,

When someone who was called Armstrong

Turned up and brought a flag along.

And so, with husband in her keep,

The Maid then took a mighty leap

From earth to Jupiter, and found

She fit much better on its ground.

So Armstrong found a vacant lot.

The moral is: Should you besot

Yourself with huge hair, slightly curled,

She’ll have you in another world.