Wood, wood, everywhere — covered in poop and hay!
It must be cleaned, this clutter gone, so clean we did this day.
The farmer old, he stored his hay within this great big barn,
Atop aged planks and criss-crossed boards all tangled up like yarn.
Some to keep and some to burn — a lot had rotted through.
We order those that ought be kept, to carve and saw and hew.
Yon wood hoard grows within the barn, which is now free of mess.
The minds of us pedantic folk too, briefly clutter-less.