Peter, Peter, Pumpkin Eater

Peter, Peter, Pumpkin Eater

Penelope Pumpkin, plump and round, Had a husband, never quite profound. He'd spend his days in fields of green, While Penelope, a queen of the scene, Baked pumpkin pies and tended bees, Her husband, Peter, brought her no ease. He'd wander off with nary a peep, Leaving Penelope counting sheep. One sunny morn, with a worried frown, Penelope searched the whole town. No sign of Peter, high or low, Just whispers of where he might go. "He's off with the crows, a feathered friend," One villager said, with a knowing grin. "He's chasing butterflies, light and free," Another chimed in, adding misery. Penelope sighed, her heart quite heavy, Then spotted a sight, not quite so levy. A giant pumpkin, plump and bright, Glowing golden in the afternoon light. Curiosity sparked, a twinkle in her eye, Penelope crept closer, with a cautious "Hi?" A voice boomed out, muffled and deep, "Penelope, my dear, at last you creep!" There, nestled inside the pumpkin's core, Sat Peter, munching on a pumpkin seed galore! "I found a world," he said with a grin, "Of pumpkin people, living within!" Penelope chuckled, shaking her head, "You silly goose, climb out of that bed!" Peter emerged, a pumpkiny mess, But Penelope loved him, nonetheless. From that day on, with a playful jab, Penelope teased, "My pumpkin-loving slab!" And Peter, reformed, stayed by her side, Enjoying pumpkin pie, with endless pride.

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