The Bucket’s Gist There was never a lack for a lad and a lass of good reason to climb up the hill where they’d pass the best time of their lives, and so Jack followed Jill to wherever she’d beckon him up on the hill. And that’s where sweet Jill had her passionate fill of Jack’s outgoing tide—tidings echoing still in the simple rhymed words that we often hear sung by the wee folk, the children we once we’re among. We, too, sang and danced way back when we were young; we gave many a nursery rhyme voice with a tongue which we’d share later on, once we’d grown a bit older, with boys and with girls who’d grown a bit bolder. We carried our buckets (which still lacked a list) to the top of a hill where we planned to be kissed, and then, like so many a past Jack and Jill, we both found our thrill tumbling back down the hill.
Ken Gosse generally writes short, rhymed verse using whimsy and humor in traditional meters. First published in First Literary Review–East in November 2016, since then in The Offbeat, Pure Slush, Parody, Home Planet News Online, Sparks of Calliope and others. Raised in the Chicago, Illinois, suburbs, now retired, he and his wife have lived in Mesa, AZ, over twenty years.