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Sticky Wicket
Sticky Wicket
O molasses sticky wicket -
A groaning preached of tips malaise.
In Boston’s North, ever thicket -
O molasses sticky wicket.
Each towny hand, with no picket,
And hellfire now, they could not raise.
O molasses sticky wicket -
A groaning preached of tips malaise.
An engineer they should have used.
Epic deluge - they could not swim.
Tum’ ache of tank, shouldn’t have refused.
An engineer they should have used.
A blobbish beast, to wayward, fused.
The tank was built upon a whim.
An engineer they should have used
Epic deluge - they could not swim.
Copyright ©
Kim Rodrigues
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