They are.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCCXXV)


How Tigger'd chase a fat house fly sans bail
All oer, the rascal taunting her til thence
Did she give up? Wherefore does it from hence
Dare bother me?! Tis downright stupid. Frail
As all the madness, swipe at it t'avail
With just a sopping dishrag, and fr'intents
Presto! Dead in a trice. Oh dear good sense,
What's this we now behold? Why that detail?
And Tigger does not care two bits; in her
Eyes that ole ****** is no more cuz through
Its machinations it's gone silent. Stir
Lost sights of yellow, sticky tongues we knew
As "Fly [erm] Paper," and what's this as twere?
Oh LORD, am I the stupid one? Where to?

08Sep25c