Her exquisite lace linen collar tiered in layers of dainty threes
Was not the only beautifying feature of Princess LaCrees
Her beetle necklace of green peridot was engraved well
Her monocle was designed by Bob Mackie’s protégé, Snell.
She was the ultimate spring peeper croaker.
We saw by her wardrobe, she was a leap frogging bloaker.
Prominently featured on her front was a darling topaz roach broach.
It was the kind of semi jewel that would never have to ride in coach.
Princess LaCrees knew to top off her flashy outfit with a favored crown.
Orange crushed velvet puff ball at the top, it was a coppery light brown.
She is dazzling, a jumper among the reeds, the best of the best.
Ribbit Ribbit she shouts, her head a big crest.
Don’t you get hungry wearing all of those bugs? Asked Lady in Waiting.
Not really, the princess answered, as her maids began the uncrating.
Grasshoppers, ants, beetles, and lady bugs were scattering all around.
She stabbed and ate them all with her wand, without making a sound.
His name was legend, written in lore,
Riding his bike like no human should.
He’d vault and swerve, plunge and dance,
Leap frogging my entire childhood.
He could sprint from a stop, faster than fast,
Past everyone else on the road.
Till he came to the top of the sharpest ridged gully,
That’s where he eventually slowed.
He slowed not to be careful, or safe or guarded,
Or because of the exhausting conquest.
But rather so he could balance on one spindly wheel,
All along the sharpest edged crest.
He’d be there for hours, any type of day,
Be it hot or cold, rain, ice, or smog.
Until, almost crippled, his bike and him one,
He rode his way home again, alone in the fog.
This night he came to the dark murky road, just out from home,
He peered left but didn’t look right.
Now he’s the ghost on a bike, wistfully riding the streets of this town,
Riding silently every night.
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