All I do these drawn-out days
Is sit in my kitchen at Pheasant Ridge
Where there are no pheasants to be seen
And last time I looked, no ridge

I could drive over to Quail Falls
And spend the day there playing bridge
But the lack of a falls and the absence of quail
Would only remind me of Pheasant Ridge

I know a widow at Fox Run
And another with a condo at Smokey Ledge
One of them smokes, and neither can run
So I’ll stick to the pledge I made to Midge

Who frightened the fox and bulldozed the ledge?
I ask in my kitchen at Pheasant Ridge