The Last of the Cavemen

The last of the cavemen lived over a valley. His tired eyes ached, and his thin beard was drooping. He walked with a limp and he couldn't help stooping. His thoughts were not many, his dreams they were few. If ever he dreamed it was only of Lou: His lost, lassie lover, a cavewoman true. The last of the cavemen did scratch his old fanny, Then sat himself down on the dirt of his hovel. He cleared away dry bones and ash with a shovel, And finding some charcoal, he knew what to do: He drew his lost lover, a cavewoman true. The last of the cavemen did all in his power To picture his lass on the wall of his tunnel. Yet, when it was done, it had feet like a camel, Two eyes like two dinner plates gaped from her face, In all, it did nothing but shame and disgrace his lost, lassie lover, a cavewoman true. The last of the cavemen, with tears brimming over, Did scratch out the portrait and weep for a while. He wept for that lost lover's magical smile, He wept for her handsome portentousness too, That lost, lassie lover, a cavewoman true. The last of the cavemen, heard feet in the hallway, Distinctively ponderous, hauntingly massive. He rose, with a tremble, he looked down the passage, Behold! Like a dream that he entered in waking, He gaped in amazement to see his sweet Lou: His lost, lassie lover, a cavewoman true! The last of the cavemen did wed his large lover, The cave was their church, and the preacher an owl, With solemn accord they did make each avowal. And to their great joy, when two happy years passed, The last of the cavemen was no longer last.