I strolled among lavendills
in the pithy piney plodding hills
bearing the brunt of burdensome bollocks
as I garnished grins of whippoorwills.
On a plateau-ish plain of prickly peet
I felt the bog beneath my feet
tickling my toes with tawdry tainted thorns,
I remembered gnarling days, and stood forlorn.
Pickled poesy pomagroups
foretold of future ladle scoops
in caligrating loop the loops in styles
reminding me of marching troops.
In shifting shylock shapes of time
with ripping radishes of rhyme
I began my daring dew descent
to the lowly muppet mugging climes.
When, on sordid stony steppes I stood,
amid the brash and boorish wood,
wenting where I was, I brought
a hinting hackle pang of good.