I can be of sound or schock. I can either be calm or come crashing down with a mighty roar. Very rarely I become rogue, and therefore tales of Men, never to return.

I wander the pines where I live to this day, but when you try to come visit I’ve just walked away. Some say I’m a ghost since I’ve never been found, but I’ll still leave a print to let you know I’m around.

Franklin sang my praises of that no one can deny, To gladly accept a pardon would not be a jive lie, In the end the bald contingency had their say, Yet I am still celebrated in a very special way.

My size by nature makes me hard to see If creature I am not, listening I may be I am for humans a vexation, for machines a contradiction Though in both I can pave the path to affliction

One Bunny, a hunter, several birds, and a cat, just a few of the thousand all under my hat. Known hater of carrots, though I’d chew them for jokes. Been gone since nineteen eighty nine, so I guess that’s all folks.