Blodgified
BLODGIFIED
When Her Royal Wifeness spots a trivialosity in my dress,
Perhaps discovering that the scarf I am holding
Is ill-suited to my suit, or that the trouser-press
Has produced sloppification or mistooken folding,
Of which there may be mutitudianary variations,
She never hesitates to tell me of my erroneosity.
I thank her profundally, praising her for her observation
And react to her contributiary word with generosity.
However, when her dress shows unimmaculation
I quietly suggest that, otherwise garmentlied, she might
Be blessed with admiratiary glances in unanimation.
And I never say her uncoiffurified hair is a terrible sight.
Even if there is a spot of porridge or jam blotted on her coat
And its messified imprintification cannot be removed or be denied,
I simply remark in an offhand way that the colour of oats
Or red jam is a nice touch - but it’s somewhat blodgified.
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