The Defense Rests
How true no fine could well expunge
the crime that caused a bird to plunge
to earth, despite the wings one sees,
but useless as a chain of fleas.
Our elf, perhaps, by cold's duress,
experienced the crushing stress
that briefly blanks out moral codes,
the strain to deal out Santa's loads,
a heavy burden, clear to all,
that Santa must eight reindeer call
to whisk him off in laden sleigh
to bless us all for Christmas Day.
The prosecution's case is sound
of fowl that plummet to the ground
by elves who must not e'er forget:
No Toy Shall Be Maligned...and yet...
we see it happen...plain as day:
this bird could never fly away,
and thus, because it could not fly,
the elf, in question, let it die.
We beg the mercy of this court,
but know full well our thin report
cannot undo this heinous deed.
From conscience, then, we must concede.
Water is wet...no sense fightin' it!
Parm
for the Defense
