The Cautionary Tale of Diddle and Dandle

Dandle and Diddle were out one day
When Numbers Buckley did come their way.
"Pardon me, my fine young sirs,
but do you like my cowboy spurs?"
Numbers bowed and tipped his hat
then ambled on and that was that.

Well, that was that til' Tuesday or so,
Til' Dandle got an itch on his toe.
He needed something to scratch it good,
And all he had was his cashmere hood.
"Those spurs would be the perfect notion,
To settle all this damned commotion.'

Diddle, too, had caught the craze
And fell into a deep malaise
Wishing he had spurs of gold,
Spurs that glistened as they rolled!
He fashioned some from tin and wire
As Dandle watched in secret ire.

“My toe! My toe!” poor Dandle cried.
”This itch has got my brain all fried.”
He moped and lazed about the house
And Diddle wished he was a mouse
To slither into Buckley's hovel
And knock him out with Dandle's shovel.

But Numbers Buckley was a giant beast
7 or 8 feet tall, at least.
Diddle and Dandle were meager chaps
Their blows, to Numbers, would be but taps
Still they yearned for spurs all day
Together they dwindled nearly all away.

Buckley heard the story around
Of those lads, minds as of late unsound,
All for the love of his golden spurs.
His mind, it clicked like a motor whirrs.
He decided to give those spurs away
And so, he thought, to save the day.

But Diddle and Dandle weren't satisfied
With one spur each, with wounded pride;
They fought each other to the death
For each assumed the other spur best.
And so our Poppycock fable ends:
Don't love your spurs more than your friends.