Penning wrangled mime
and wared out of my skits,
I’m poked in serspiration,
My mind’s in fisted twits.
It’s not the way I spike to leak;
I’ve turned to try it down.
Still I'm rilled with florious grime,
so nothing dings me brown.
We poets are a lazy crot,
voiling with turds and worse.
Roping with the fools of corm,
dinditions so reverse.
A hong lot toke in the sub
might dude me a girl of wood.
Or how about a bun at the reach?
Well, I can’t wet a gay, but I should.
The mighty warlord shakes his fist and sends his troops to the abyss
Families broken and torn because of an oath that was sworn
Fathers and sons die in vain but no one can feel their pain
Mothers cry as their children are sent off to die
Innocent blood is shed, does no one care for these dead
Sadness grips the heart of man as many a persons blood stains the land
Cries from the public go unheard as the warlord shouts his mighty words
Kill them all he says, make these people pay
The screams of wounded go on through the night begging for the warlord to end the fight
No answer comes from his high up throne for his heart is cold as stone
Only a child dared to face him
He begged for his people
His words so moved the warlord he again shook is fist this time calling his troops from
the abyss
Families are pieced back together after the mighty storm they have weathered
The child is proclaimed a hero
Sides that once wared against each other now call themselves brothers
Fields are resown and homes rebuilt, no longer does the warlord feel guilt
But nothing can replace the loss of life for that is the true price of war
Boxes and boxes of lovely soft creams,
ready to be loaded on our ship of dreams.
Chocolate cream pies, and chocolate E'clairs,
lemon filled donuts, and Jelly cream bars.
Oodles and oodles of illicit delights,
watching my hips grow out of sight.
i shan't resist, some coconut cream pies,
bulging above my double sized thighs.
With my mouth watering I sit and stare,
at all these wonderful home baked wares.
Give me fortitude, squeezed out with a tear,
need some treats? Help yourself my dear.
When over fed, I am finding to my ilk,
groaning, I need more cookies and milk.
A situation I should not have begun,
encourages a visit to the dietitian.