The Slippery Moose Poem by Alex AAA

On the hottest day of the year, he galloped into battle.
Slipping past the enemy lines he slipped in without a rattle.
With the enemy being dealt with he could finally strike,
Using the power of the ancient, slipperiest might.

He had won the battle, had slain his enemy, but he was not yet done,
For the winter had still yet to come,
And the mheese had not yet arisen from their slumber,
Their antlers all still numb.

The slippery moose with his slippery eyes, slipped into the autumn air,
With his slippery sight he basked in glory, observing a waking moose with despair.
He slipped on the slope, it was a slippery slope, the slipperiest of them all,
And the slippery slope sailed him down with no rope, and then he heard the call.

The mheese had come to rescue him – his slip slop days were through,
The slippery mope called out in response, but then their calls were anew.
He heard a sound he had never dreamed to imagine, one so beautiful to behold,
It was the sound of the mheese, three golden mheese, of which ancient tales had told.