And so with the sun hanging low in the sky
and everyone tired, they yawned
and even the birds were refusing to fly
but returned to their nests and babes fond.

"My dear company," the Pickler said,
"I declare that this is the end,
but I think that indeed I really do dread
having to leave you, my friends."

"And what of adventure?" the Piglet exclaimed,
his little pink face flushed with pride,
"Yes, what of the unknown?" said Please, unafraid
and they looked everyone in the eye.

The others nodded, the Pipe-Maker puffed
a particularly thick cloud of smoke
to signal his approval, and the the rest of them coughed,
though the dragon thought it was a joke.

("IF THEY THINK THAT'S A LOT," he said with a grin--
"Oh, hush!" the Pirate did growl,
"We're taking up sapce, and parenthesis in
this poem which makes poets howl."

"SORRY," Percival said with a bow
of his scaly and large maroon head
and always and ever from here until now
he was ne'er impolite again.

"Except once," the Pirate just had to say--
even though he didn't quite want
to further postpone the tale of the day--
with a face like one in a swamp.)

"All right, then," the Pickler said with a shrug,
"If this is what you all want to do--"
"I think we should vote!" said the Politician like a bug
that has nearly been squashed by a shoe.

"Who cares?" the Painter interrruped abrubtly,
not caring if he was rude,
for he viewed the business of voting as muddy
as tent-camping in bogs, and as crude.

"Well, not I," the Pumpkin-grower did say,
his face as uncaring as pie
unless one had carved in a cute smiley-face
in which case he was grim as a fly.

"Me neither" the consensus turned out to be,
with the Pirate's word of advice:
"We can't wait around forever, you see,
and besides, we are men and not mice!"

"I'm a piglet!" the Piglet reminded him fast,
his feelings just a bit bruised
for he always felt left out, and was last!
always the last to be choosed.

"Men, piglets, dragons and Pleases," the Pickler began,
"And Pilots and Pipe-makers, too;
and Politicians and Pirates--" here he raised up a hand
while hopping about on one shoe--

"Painters and pumpkins, and the people who grow them,
brave in spirit all of them are,
and none of us mice, yet not all of us men:
I think that we've come very far...

But still farther to go! Still horizons unknown!
Still part of the map to venture,
still hills up ahead, and flowers that grow,
and fields and rivers, I'm sure.

Still adventures to be had!" He cried, and his arms
flung out to the east and the west,
and he spun in a circle, and the others were charmed
and felt that they'd never have rest

unless they followed the Pickler brave
over hills and into the woods
across rivers and rocks and into a cave--
yes, they'd follow their captain, they would!

"What is the delay?" asked Percival Pink,
his wings beginning to twitch,
"I can carry at least the Pirate"-- he winked,
"and the rest... well, take turns, and switch."

The Pirate smiled fondly at his friend,
"Of course, the sky's the new sea!"
and the rest of them grinned and hoped they could mend
some sort of transport as quickly.

"I know!" the Pumpkin-grower exclaimed,
as he pointed to his pumpkin so large,
"We can carve it out hollow, give her a name,
and we'll have our very own barge!"

"Aha!" they all cried, and set quickly to work,
and in only a few minutes time,
they'd cut off the top, pulled out all the seeds
and were covered with orange insides.

The Pumpkin-grower was a tiny bit sad
to see his great beauty sliced through,
but he picked up a seed and planted it, glad
to hope for a new pumpkin soon.

"I can carry it," Percival offered, and found
a thick, long piece of twined rope
which was most uncommonly lying around,
more convenient than most could e'er hope.

And so they carved three windows and a door
into the orange pumpkin-rind
and in they all went, to sit on the mush-floor
but it was soft, so they didn't mind.

The Pickler went last, and looked out at the fields
and the hills, and the sun hanging low
and he sighed with contentment that one always feels
in the dim red sunsetting glow.

Piglet and Please sat hoof-in-hand
as the pumkin was lifted up high
and everyone's face showed they thought it was grand
to be rising up into the sky.

"To adventure!" cried the Pirate, from his perch on the back
of his grinning maroon-colored friend
"To adventure!" they cried, with high-fives and hand-smacks--
And now, dear readers: The End.

(But in final parenthesis the Pickler gazed out
of the window, and felt wind in his hair
and he knew in a moment, as they soared to the clouds,
that this was his tale to share...)