I was in the eighth grade
When my friend and I,
Decided to go from Seattle
To Lynden, to pick strawberries.
We were both Boy Scouts
With back packs and sleeping bags.
We left our homes
On this wonderous journey,
By hitchhiking, up North, on old 99.
We arrived in Lynden, later that day
And were told "no strawberries";
it was the end of the season.
We turned around, noting our plight
And slept in a Bellingham field that night.
Back to our homes, we then went
And noticed that green bean picking
Would be another event.
But that is another story.

I look at you and I see,
this resemblance
that looks like me.
Why is that I say to you,
when I'm with the monkeys
at the Woodlawn Park Zoo?

Roaring in, from the East it came.
An ill wind, that will ever remain,
carrying a virus, no plan in mind
except the destruction of today's mankind.
Ill prepared were those left in charge
to face the attack and heavy barrage,
attacking all without reason or rage.
preying on those who were of old age.

The Daffodils swayed,
The Tulips did dance,
In the filtered Moonlight
Of a garden Romance.