Nonsense
The pickering of pickle pie
Of pickle as pickled could be
My liver to be exact
Pickled to disbelief
Of proportionately exorbitantly larger than it could be
But what is it
To be exactly like me
In all fathoms of to be
Inwardly moving through scale topple less trees
Green In envy I see
Far reaching I see
Resting on top of my tree
But what about pickles that echoes and bellows below
All in time please
I’m in need of my yellow phone
To sanction the life out of those
Those are to be known
Unfortunately for those who can’t seem to follow the pickle by the sea
I have nothing to give you but a tireless rant of nonsense
So follow your foe or foe’s
As I will stay here on top of my tree eating my pickle pie
Copyright © Paul Murray | Year Posted 2022
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