Marsha Marsha

Step right up I got a story to tell. It takes place in Old Florida near a wishing well. The names and places may be re-arranged. But what went down is more or less the same. It was midnight in Salt Lake when she got the fateful call about a missing footprint of a Texas Panther paw. It sounded so peculiar, she packed her bags and sent her money in for a Florida Cougar license tag. Turns out Tamiami’s too fast for our liking, gonna hafta ban all the cars and keep it to ten-speed biking, or use lots of ripple strips, you know they work just fine. Or how about painting a panther on a couple of signs.

It isn’t simple, there’s no easy plan.

First a hundred panthers, and how her.

She took The Plan deep into the woods. Panther got one look, he said – “This ain’t no good. We need a bridge that spans from here to “there, Route the traffic down around in boats, or fly it up in the air.” Whatever happened to living on the land? That got lost to development, it’s approved in The Plan. “You mean to tell me, there’s no place left to go? First they stuck me in the mud, next they’ll send us to the snow.” “Oh, you mean the glaciers? Yeah, they’re moving in, too. What once was dry land is seeping in my shoe.” “Hurry up and mix, we’ve gotta pour the plaster before that rain cloud fills the print up any faster!”

Florida is a force sort of like fate

“Would you like some raw hog head?” “No thank you I just ate.”