Sokka:
I am so sorry.
Something struck me in the rear.
I just… wound up… here.
Macmu-Ling:
Five, seven, then five,
syllables mark a haiku.
Remarkable oaf.
Sokka:
They call me Sokka,
that is in the Water Tribe.
I am not an oaf.
Macmu-ling:
Chittering monkey,
in the spring he climbs treetops,
and thinks himself tall.
Sokka:
You think you’re so smart,
with your fancy little words,
this is not so hard.
Macmu-Ling:
Whole seasons are spent,
mastering the form, the style,
none calls it easy.
Sokka:
I calls it easy.
Like I paddle my canoe,
I’ll paddle yours too!
Macmu-Ling:
There’s nuts and there’s fruits.
In fall the clinging plumb drops,
always to be squashed.
Sokka:
Squish, squash, sling that slang.
I’m always right back at ya,
like my… BOOMERANG!
That’s right, I’m Sokka,
it’s pronounced with an “okka”,
young ladies, I rocked ya!
…