Quaint Inanity.
Sometimes ago I'd thought of the idiosyncratic Shenanigans our politicians employed in declaring their manifesto. They're quite rapscallions.
Exhibiting hoity-toities during their declarations of flapdoodle, they
Tune their cozenage to the rhythm
Of rascality.
And you see kaleidoscopic legs picking
The nimbus of the elfin music.
And they're swayed into cotillion till their Fela* commute to dirge.
18:07:23:18:52
Rosy lips,
And rosy cheeks,
Plump face,
A person with a grace!
His ‘good’ (?) health,
Behoves his wealth,
Eats well,
Looks well!
But becomes easily breathless,
Often gets night-sweats,
His health is virtual,
And not real!
This ‘big’ boss,
Can not have “Koch’s!”
Some one may challenge,
Beware! A strange cozenage!!
Daughter, sister,
Wife, mother,
Adjectives of kinship
Are worthy of worship
Markers of purity,
Idols of sanctity,
Yet victims of atrocity!
Strange cozenage of sanctity!!
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