An Exercise in Nonsense

An Exercise in Nonsense
Patrick Varin

His mind was his prison
And he had lost the key
He had melted it down
To make a crown
To adorn a Christmas tree

The tree stood tall
Its sap tasted of cherries
Its needles were soft
And the bark smelled of berries

Till old Paul Bunyan
Came through with his ox
Smelling of dried onion
And cheese in his socks

He was no small man
And that is to say
Trees fell at his foot
As he tread the ground shook
Shrubs jumped and scurried away

He came with a scheme
Though twas’ not the season
Said his good head of reason
To raze the evergreen

So the tree stood
Till it grew to be brown
Outlasting the years
Outliving its fears
Adorned with a little gold crown

I appreciate the rhythm with which this poem takes shape, even if the rhyme becomes cumbersome. My feeling is you don't even need the rhyme, that there is enough back bone in the repetition and narrative pattern you create. I feel compelled by the sensory language in particular: sap tasted of cherries; smelling of dried onion and cheese in his socks!; and As he tread the ground shook.