Come be dithered forlorn! There is joy to be borne
In a jar with its lid off in light of its load.
With the mind far at ease from the swinging trapeze
Any song sung in series will certainly please
One who favors the face of the figmented toad.
There is pink think in linking jackhammers to corn.
Now, that makes no sense. I’d do well to dispense
With the sentinel sent to torment fellow food.
If my sentiment centers on seaweed all day
Then can Mikey stop eating to come out and play?
There’s no contention to mention my mood
As the grip of the hippo remains quite intense.
What the Hell am I saying. Have I lost my mind?
Not a giblet bespeaks what a cucumber knows
Not a fish in a glass house will do windows. Still,
I could get a stray crayfish to lend me its will.
As the seawater whistles is how the seed blows.
Kick the can for kind karma and blissful behind.