19 November, 2009


To blurg ,
to blog ,
it will not merg,
when apples cease
and trotters surg.

There is no point
but to elaborate,
To huddle,
To expel,
To extrapolate.

'Mercy!' cry the heels of toe,
When sense is none
and sharks think woe.

Again no point
shall these words here make.
Just to annoy,
To trickle,
To apple pie bake.

Bit by bit the sand do fly,
Attrition is the best man's sigh.
Little by little cats will tie
Their tails in knots of mice so shy.

Fiddle and faddle,
Grabble the rabble,
Tiller the tattle,
When time to babble.

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