She came with a timble to my lumish critch
Through borms
and grups
and a large, lectish, dish

‘Don’t bore me with your seminoad you Satin-Sir said she
‘So        cobble twibe! I replied for a gal as vimbly as thee.

‘Crickets are my namesake as they grift and leem with ease
Out in the plimmelday
                         where    
  ahoppybug                  should be.


The Plimmelday with sun       and gaype
A simplement of shine and life
Forever twibe on the high and narrow
A place where burdeves fear to bite


A gate surrounds the plimmelday
But Miss Cricket will be safe
A hareth ***** and Mr. Crick

A goodfar ways away.