her ever inquiring, always so refined, mind, ascheming.
sure, we respondez, after all, like I’m America’s Got Talent, scratching out a song and dance number poem shouldn’t prove to be too difficult, ain’t even 11 o’clock, just near enough
how ‘bout some pigs perambulating, or, some humans juggling other humans so rapido that the eyes are auto fast forwarding, magic tricks that I swear I saw on another show, years ago, but just to keep up with the high jinks and the...
then, I fell asleep. awoke to find this poem pinned to my chest.
“not your best, but lest, you think, not good enough, don’t get yourself all depressed, I’m here to inform you, there are a few cherries^ gone into hiding, under the bed on my side.