Untitled Poem

A toad, he would a wooin’ go,
Whether his momma would let him or no.
He donned his spats an’ his second-best topper
And snuck outside while his momma made supper.
    The way was long,
        The toad was fat;
    He sang a song
        And doffed his hat.
    The grass was high,
        The ditch was deep,
    And by and by
        He fell asleep.
His momma’s cousin found him so
Lyin’ there, a pitiful show.
She took him back, a bachelor still,
Of momma’s supper to eat his fill.

This tale has a lesson:
Woo with your momma’s blessin’