06 May, 2010


Hark to the bargey lark
That saileth to the moon
Ignore him who heedeth not
To angry raging mood
Thus the blood rain falleth hot
And boiling waters rise
To expel the secret box of dark
Yet still addendum the lies
What say the grungy bees
Whom after raid the loom?
What will the windows please
When silver tangents groom?
Quickly falls the blocky ditch
Of which the yesters cease
Or stomping rhinos glaring pitch
Of cracking earthen pease
Take a jar of sweet-smelling lard
And paste it to the croaker
Jam the whiners mouth with card
And take them to the soaker
Whistle, whistle, rip the shard
Pity not the dripping turd
Yet in the broken after guard
Triple all absurd
Scribble-scrabble, wait a while
So coroner can gamble
Then hesitating throw a tile
At misbegotten ramble
And as in uffish selfish trial
Whiffles tulgy amble
In that very moment smile
Before cutting down peramble
Hark to the bargey lark
What saileth to the moon
For simple though the road to park
It giveth thee no boon.

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