To Nallum in Your Glist
TO NALLUM IN YOUR GLIST
“I don’t understand you.” She, with pandled lips and gaze forlorn,
While I, becrimbled, sought to straff my meaning, bonsting ever stronger.
“My dear”, I kettered, “listen to my heart speak, and my eyes gerlanger
“Therein to frist with claggan thutes my ever-wunding balledorn.”
“They make no sense!”, she mickled me, “your words confound my burdened brain!”
With manstered prace, I bruffled close and said, “Then clafe me with thine heart!
“My whindered paragrete bestries the flanchet of my fresh douszharte
“And I will nallum in your glist, my bossen brack to there remain.”
Her gazzled eyes gone googly, madder made by parns of stuckly crale,
Threw up her hands, unlobbed her vergous tanders, and rose up to flee.
“Enough!” she plenned, “My world’s made dizzy by the words you offer me!”
While berging soft, I trunched at her with all my rhykless manifest tremail.
Her backwards glare and rising ire slendaked my baunder merklessly,
And all alone, I tevvered home, to ponder - nay, to whaspen! - her quinale.
Copyright ©
Douglas Stoiber
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