Its double have I
Come upon.
Its meek-moulded one
For this hut.
Quietly resigned.
Low-lying.
Shakes, squirms not eying
World, ogrish.
With breast out, brutish
Does for peak
Rumbling, stormed o'er bleak
Always jut.
All quiet on the western front:
The rest, in bed, still sleeping.
Then, audibly, I hear a grunt;
The neck hairs start their creeping.
Then springing up from on the couch
To do a full room sweeping,
I stub a toe, a stifled ouch,
And words that need some bleeping.
And there beneath me, I can vouch,
The monitor is beeping.
It’s Vivian, no ogrish grouch,
Whose company I’m keeping.
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