A banana farmer and a llama farmer sat together supping in the sun.
Said the llama farmer to banana farmer, “I find llama farming ain’t much fun.
“When you hear the herd a hassling, bellowing and wrassling then you’ll think it’s time to run,
But you’ll hear their hard hooves follow, ringing loud and hollow; tell me, does that sound like fun?”
The banana farmer squinted as the sunlight glinted on the leaf he looked upon.
In the absence of an answer from the other farmer, llama farmer carried on:
“I have Push-me-pull-you nightmares: brown- and grey- and white-hairs jostling to stare me out,
As they trample me to traces, laughter on their faces, then I wake up with a shout.”
The banana farmer sighed as llama farmer cried and poured another cup of tea.
He was accustomed to the wailing, shivering and quailing from his current addressee,
Still he sometimes found it wearing, though he’d not stopped caring, hearing it each single day.
But the ritual tea-drinking saved his friend from sinking; sent his llama fears away.