There’s a tiny village in the heart of the Kansas plains
In the middle of the chaos, the villagers would complain
So in the center of the village, in the midst of disaster
A peaceful Florida bum would settle down like a master
Others would rush near and swiftly shout and warn
Of the fires, the bolts of thunder—the sky would soon storm!
But a shack made of pretzels is all that he had 
With salty beams and planks that leaned just a tad 
The rain had already washed all its salt away
(The rest that Jon didn’t gnaw anyway)
He’d count each yummy snack and stand back with pride
Though it’s difficult to tally, with the absence of one eye
The other—lost in the previous storm
The happy gaze on his face he still wore
If his house ever dared to fall apart
He built it again and never depart
For his love for pretzels was more than riches and gold
(Or popcorn at least—his previous house sold) 
He lived his life in his tiny pretzel shack
What’s better than a house that’s made of a snack?
A yard made of a blizzard, sugarcane, and tomatoes
Surrounded by blizzards, hurricanes, and tornadoes
Jon was sitting in the middle of the city and plain
Awaiting a storm that would bash his brain
Sunglasses, suntan, and a pretzel cigar
Relaxing in a bathtub with salty soap bars
In the middle of the city amidst cruelest disaster
As destructive winds would twirl and spin faster
As the others ran for cover, Jon beamed with a smile
For he hadn’t felt such a thrill in a while
His feelings were free, but that soon ended
What a cruel end to the tub he befriended!
It blew from beneath and flew in the distance
But he—never horrified for an instant,
When a lightning bolt struck a little too close
His body turned into a plump turkey roast
And as he reached his hand above, to pet his locks so fair
He found he had lost each [and every] blonde wave of his hair! 
Blustered askew! His pretzel house,
From every beam to an unwanted mouse
Jon’s pretzel shack shot splinters in the sky
And who ever heard of a tub that could fly?
Forever it would drizzle, in the flavored city plain
Salty bits and pieces and bubbles in the rain
Jon would never be forgotten from our hearts and minds
He’s still remembered and saluted at our Thanksgiving time
And of course, on his birthday, I must never forget
And though I’m too late, I do regret
To wish him the best of days and happiest of hours!
And that his day be the sunniest and his view never sour!