The Sawhorse clattered to a halt besideLooking back, I recall being dissatisfied with this item as a story, even a slight one, so I recycled the final pun in different form into a tale titled “Dearest Mother” later printed in an issue of Oziana. But the original stayed on my hard drive, awaiting a day when I needed a blog entry.
The city gate. “Unlock the doors!” he called.
The Guardian of the Gates around the walled
Metropolis regretfully replied,
“Believe me, all this afternoon I’ve tried.
The iron bar that holds the doors is stalled,
And nobody can leave the Emerald—”
“Who let this happen?”
“I,” the Guardian sighed.
“I took a wishing pill to be a bard,
Completing verses for my tunes. But fate
Has barred me from the post I was assigned.”
The Sawhorse pawed the ground and pondered hard.
“What tune?” he asked.
The Guardian sang. The gate
Swung free. “But how?”
“You sang your opening line.”
Above is the Sawhorse as depicted by Bill Campbell of The Oz Enthusiast.