O Trebuchet

O trebuchet, O trebuchet...
How dost thou fling
The messages I send
And the words that I sing?
With your steel balls of joy
And your boulders of love,
Magnificent missives
Rain down from above.

O trebuchet, O trebuchet...
The words they doth fly,
Like sweet saucy dumplings
And custardly pie.
They carom and they splat,
They splat and carom,
Causing mess that cannot
Be cleaned up with a broom.

O trebuchet, O trebuchet...
You fill me with awe,
Whether mild slopey font
Or a weapon of war...
Words or big rocks
Or gravel-filled socks...
I'd like one for Christmas...
But what a big box!