Island Jim, remember him?

He rode his horse til the light went dim

Forgot his bedroll that fine day

So he just rolled up in the hay

A big round bale did just the trick

Despite the absence of a chick

(Or rooster, hen, or billy goat

Or short tailed weasel (known as stoat))

When night was done and day came on

He wondered where his friends had gone

And said, compared to me, you know

Paul Simon’s an archipelago.

I don’t know what transpired then

Or where he went or even when

I guess he headed straight back home

And thus concludes my silly poem.