Off the top of my head
A poem sprang like a pilchard
Wrapped in a disgruntled doily
It's time weary face
Etched with brine and balsamic vinegar
I weaved a second verse
From an old badger's batik vest
A mildewed resting place
For gannets and elongated ducks
Tired of trifle
Plunged into a third
Vat of words dipped in effluent
I saw an elephant laughing
Skipping like a pneumatic truncheon
Over a puddle of plasticine
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2 comments:
you really are mad! no need to pretend at all
Its; the way I tell 'em!
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