Strike Them Hard, Drag Them To Church

The LEVITTS had children that weren’t exactly sane; You’d try to ask them questions, their attention would wane. Busted over the head and dragged on by the scruff Because on Sundays Levitts rested, only then enough.
STRIKE THEM HARD. Drag them to Church. STRIKE THEM HARD. Pull them to Church.
You could bust them over the heads with gun butts, Canoe and clubs; Nothing seems to sink in or hurt. The CHURCH could calm those fleats with flute, and HYMNAL sound. During the sermons gag those beasts! howling out like hounds, They’d pinch, STAB, hit and poke, ‘til each were purple and blue; (Having to supply stronger OAK for the Levitts’ personal pew.)
They started storming over something early one morning, The youngest one crawling, looking. He ran four rows, Head ducked down low, before his brow smashed in, wood busting. The mess brought the others laughing and screaming, tearing up the place; The FATHER said, ‘Enough of this’ and whipped Them outside, driving them out of his Grace. This Open World opened them up to Open Minds Up and down, like working ANTS destroying a tall tree. These branches came to waste and want not, Because it helped build a guillotine. The blade was wide enough to chop two HEADS off With edges of books and plates dirty. (snake bites)
By digging a hole that was at the foot of the nearby orchard Taking on an army of plum-laden trees with rocks for ammo. Fingers that pried up rocks and branches – From the pit, a new idea; Spread out branches & rocks to make a pictures of MOTHER on a hill-side. Split-wood teeth pointed, just like the bitter wood angry jaw The mouth, a pile of shrubs and kindling fired to make a flaming maw. As Levitts ran CRAZY up and across her terrible storm-wrinkled brow, The hill would have burnt up completely Unless their yelps, jumps and leaps contained somehow.
After five days of insanity including: Piggy Drags, Gun Blasts, A broken leg, teeth left in the creek, Cloth burning, rope burn, Dirt war, porch busting; Drowsiness put them to sleep. It’s a wonder no one was KILLED, including the onlookers (Who could tolerate yet sustain). Those bruised messes were Flute-tamed water dropped on pipes and made a somber sound. The rider had more life than a corral of horses bucking up forever; Never had such a sound been heard, and never such an AUDIENCE the water.
The years rolled, one meal every day, followed by the other. Young years left the youths, and the WEATHER Honored the Brothers and Sisters. Their minds aging, No longer MISCHIEF were they pursuing, for they had learned To hammer logs and sometimes thumbs in the calm of aging.