So cool, she sat in jungle setting,
with wide-brimmed hat and Capri pants.
Alone, we were, under mosquito netting,
except, of course for a thousand ants.
Her name was Carol, her job was singing,
and Boy, did she let out a wail.
It scared the snake that held her, clinging,
it bit her leg and then turned tail.
I jumped into action, as was my training,
and shouted loudly for all to hear.
The safari leader came in exclaiming,
“I’ve got the antidote so do not fear.”
But all was not so nice and easy,
the antidote had been left behind,
so, bravely, I rowed us down the Zambesi,
like a mighty Tarzan of the modern kind.
Panicked with fear and paler than white,
Carol looked up with her face full of dread.
As we moored at the jetty, the doctor in sight,
she said “If I survive this, will you marry me, Fred?”
The medicine worked; we were married in June,
It had ended quite well, all being said.
But where shall we go for our honeymoon?
Not to the Jungle, to the Mountains instead.