The idea of “fun”
Just happened to be begun
By a little, shy gibbon
By the name of Milton

It is the nature of gibbons
To howl like thunder
They give out prize ribbons
To the best howls given

But little, shy Milton
White-cheeked like the moon
Wanted to run
Thinking he had no howl tongue

And so one dark day
Milton was sad
Brooding and crying
How his howls were bad

And not of his will
He cried out sad howls…

And all of the gibbons
When they heard these strange howls
Giggled, laughed, howled
Returned these crazed howls!

For in the language of gibbon
Milton’s meaning had none
But for the smiles he’d given
They named Milton’s howls “fun”

So if you see gibbons
All hooting and howling
The last thing to be doing
Is brooding and scowling

For in the language of gibbon
Where the meaning is none
It was just Milton’s doing
Gibbons love howling “fun”!


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