Muff the tragic wagon, lived by the street,
And rolled along the boulevard, through rain and snow and sleet.
Little Tommy Pumpkin loved that wagon Muff,
And rolled him home and filled him up, with toys and other stuff.
Together they would travel, along the avenue,
Tommy hanging out his leg would scuff his Sunday shoe.
Taxi cabs and buses would honk as they went by,
Tragic wagons never seem to need to stop for gas.
Children live forever, but not so children’s toys,
Wagons can’t forever be a friend to little boys.
And one gray day it happened while Tommy took his nap,
A garbage truck ran over Muff and turned him into scrap.
Little Tommy Pumpkin said just off the cuff,
There will never be another tragic wagon Muff.