On a distant field, is a different view of the mountaintop,
Which isn’t necessarily old, or new, or used a lot,
And even though it mostly stands there dutiful… it’s beautiful,
And right off, that’s much more than what I’ve got!
And it’s taller too, with a better view,
But I don’t know of what…
Probably me and my piano as a dot,
Or my town as a spot?
Maybe, maybe not.
I wonder if he wants us to move or what?
Put all the dots and spots in the desert…
Forget it. Too hot.
At least for this gringo’s nose,
But so what?
Who are you twinkle toes…
Sir Lancelot?
Which, by the way, hasn’t got a lot,
To do with what?...
Oh yes… the mountaintop.
Nothing can match the splendor of the mountaintop,
Or the serenity atop its frozen summit.
And if your eye looks closely,
You can see that from it,
The snowy owl does plummet,
As he’s done it, everyday,
Swooping down upon his prey,
And to the terrible dismay of his wife…
That is, the prey’s wife, “Mrs. Rat,”
And not the owl’s wife,
Why is that?
Because the snowy owl lives alone and has no wife.
But he sees a few parrots…
Down below,
Below the snow,
Tasty morsels one and all,
Don’t you know,
That no good will come of it at all.
Not for the parrots.
Not when you realize, served with carrots,
It’s the owl’s favorite dish!
But wait a minute… that’s no owl!
That’s not even a snowy fowl, or a snowy pal,
Or a Joey Pal, or a Pal Joey…
It’s a fish!
It’s a big, white, snowy, frozen fish!
Which, by the way,
Is Pal Joey’s favorite dish.
Parrots, carrots and snow fish…
Ah...A real meal!
A meal fit for a snowman,
Or a snowmobile, or a salmon…
But then again…
That hasn’t got a lot, to do with what?
Oh yes… the mountaintop!
I think I’ll plan a journey to the mountaintop.
I guess I’d like to go in the spring,
When the warmer weather shows,
And the former winter’s snow,
Melts and brings the water down,
Down below,
Down the rivers and the springs,
To my naked little toes.
Waiting, anticipating toes…
All ten that I’ve got,
Waiting for this moment to savor, and my neighbor,
And his toes and his spot,
And his wife Rose and her dot,
And her toes too… that is, ten,
Or rather, her toes also, which is twenty,
Which is at least two dots,
Or a spot and a half in the ancient language of Toebath,
And their neighbor, Jobeth,
And her toes,
And all her babies and their little toes,
And she’s Catholic, so we’re talkin’ babies,
Megatoes.
Rows and rows of toes.
Dozens of dots.
And I’m not counting the elephant and his toes,
Or maybe it’s her toes...
Who knows?
I’d hate to find out!
Who would ask? Not I, thanks a lot.
You can have that task.
But one thing’s for sure…
An elephant with nose, toes, and garden hose,
Is at least a spot and three dots.
Besides, and furthermore,
I like to be up with the salmon,
Who are running like they oughta,
Wouldn’t you?
With all those rows and rows of toes in the water?
I know that’s what I’d teach my daughter,
If she was a salmon…which she’s not,
Which hasn’t got a lot… to do with what?
Oh yes, the mountaintop.