"plumpy" poems - Hello Poetry

When the baker bakes the baked bakery bakes, Do they also bake the recipe required? What's the recipe for a poem? Does the poet pen the poetical poem poetically to pen their pretty poems? What temperature do you bake ink- To make it a bestseller? How much baking powder do you bake into a page To perfect its pagey turny pageiness? What kinda poem crust does a poem become encrusted in? Should it crumble? Should it rhyme? Should it cry a melodrama so dramatic that drama llamas like “that too much drama!”? Wait, Where did drama llama come into this? Who else is in the kitchen cooking this poem pie? Is the poem pie perfectly pied in its drama crust? WAIT- we forgot about the filling… What do you put in a poetical poem pie? Should I peach the pied poem? The peaches plumpy peachy smile? (i’m not sure how the drama llama feels about that) Should I fill the peachy pied poem with orange and lemon citrus ? A little bit of snazz to the snazzy apple pie. Crap, I forgot the apples as well. Well now my peachy pied lemony apple-orange poem is too long! And i still don’t know what temperature to torch these thoughts at! Well the pied piper pipes in that maybe my peachy pied poem needs some pepper To pipe the spice to pied poem levels! But lemony apple-orange peachy pied poems with pepper seems a touch peppery for simple pied poems to be. But who ever said a poem pied can’t have spice and everything nice WITH lemon and apple and orange and peachy fuzzy smiles? So, My peachy peppered pied lemony appley orangy poemy is piping hot to boot. Now i just need to figure out whos gonna eat the **** thing.

0

Dec 2, 2021

Dec 2, 2021 at 3:27 PM UTC

Bobs_6thsense

Peachy Poem Pie

When the baker bakes the baked bakery bakes, Do they also bake the recipe required? What's the recipe for a poem? Does the poet pen the poetical poem poetically to pen their pretty poems? What temperature do you bake ink- To make it a bestseller? How much baking powder do you bake into a page To perfect its pagey turny pageiness? What kinda poem crust does a poem become encrusted in? Should it crumble? Should it rhyme? Should it cry a melodrama so dramatic that drama llamas like “that too much drama!”? Wait, Where did drama llama come into this? Who else is in the kitchen cooking this poem pie? Is the poem pie perfectly pied in its drama crust? WAIT- we forgot about the filling… What do you put in a poetical poem pie? Should I peach the pied poem? The peaches plumpy peachy smile? (i’m not sure how the drama llama feels about that) Should I fill the peachy pied poem with orange and lemon citrus ? A little bit of snazz to the snazzy apple pie. Crap, I forgot the apples as well. Well now my peachy pied lemony apple-orange poem is too long! And i still don’t know what temperature to torch these thoughts at! Well the pied piper pipes in that maybe my peachy pied poem needs some pepper To pipe the spice to pied poem levels! But lemony apple-orange peachy pied poems with pepper seems a touch peppery for simple pied poems to be. But who ever said a poem pied can’t have spice and everything nice WITH lemon and apple and orange and peachy fuzzy smiles? So, My peachy peppered pied lemony appley orangy poemy is piping hot to boot. Now i just need to figure out whos gonna eat the **** thing.

34

Time passes by like a whistle in the wind. Ignored and only observed within the thickness of one's skin. The once gnawing temptation in Lula's eyes were now exchanged in kaput like a dead black swan in the lake. It grew on her and she can only justify it by moving her legs back in forth and forward with her ballet shoes; she can only obtain her physical through the applause of everyone around her. Yet, there were trickles of blood forming inside her internal wound — as the piano strikes another note in A minor, she can only whisk in pain and undone drafts in her head. "Tis will be over", she raises her head upon the crowds heaping in excitement, she turned around and flew her wings upright and the heads of the audience once more clapped in vain and delirium nonsensical pleasure. As Chopin's symphony were almost in the last note, she stood straight and made her way to the middle. There, she locked eyes with her forbidden lover and a small smile throughout. The intensity of another Vivaldi's winter classic can be grasp once more and another set up of white swans gathered together — formed a circle and she went in the middle. Her eyes turned black and her wings bleed another tint of jet black and crimson. The crowds awed in reverence and she soared above them. A starlet in the headless crowds and dreary sweet rustle of voices gave her another bliss. And while she was served aloft, there were another macabre symphony that plays through the soft rough piano; it was a solemn prayer and they were the kind souls going up to the heavens. "Go on, Salem. Play the winter magic," Salem could only look at his muse and he strike another note, passing notes two steps from their 'haven'. Lula slowly ripped her wings for the last time and smiled to all the headless men. Her satin dress reveals her plumpy chest and an hourglass body. Lula is a goddess black swan. Men could only forward their eyes and threw her pennies once more and she could only move in her balletic conventional pose. For the last time, she flew with her black tinted wings and they were all beheaded. The white swans began to sing in a solemn outcry until it became too remorseful. The white swans turned their heads down when they met Lula's dead eyes. Her laugh echoing the whole stadium with its own persona and it is like crawling down into waltz where it reaches their earshot. They can only sing in albeit and expensive heads started to explode. "Two steps from hell," she sings.

0

May 30, 2021

May 30, 2021 at 7:11 AM UTC

cordelia

Macabre Symphonies

Time passes by like a whistle in the wind. Ignored and only observed within the thickness of one's skin. The once gnawing temptation in Lula's eyes were now exchanged in kaput like a dead black swan in the lake. It grew on her and she can only justify it by moving her legs back in forth and forward with her ballet shoes; she can only obtain her physical through the applause of everyone around her. Yet, there were trickles of blood forming inside her internal wound — as the piano strikes another note in A minor, she can only whisk in pain and undone drafts in her head. "Tis will be over", she raises her head upon the crowds heaping in excitement, she turned around and flew her wings upright and the heads of the audience once more clapped in vain and delirium nonsensical pleasure. As Chopin's symphony were almost in the last note, she stood straight and made her way to the middle. There, she locked eyes with her forbidden lover and a small smile throughout. The intensity of another Vivaldi's winter classic can be grasp once more and another set up of white swans gathered together — formed a circle and she went in the middle. Her eyes turned black and her wings bleed another tint of jet black and crimson. The crowds awed in reverence and she soared above them. A starlet in the headless crowds and dreary sweet rustle of voices gave her another bliss. And while she was served aloft, there were another macabre symphony that plays through the soft rough piano; it was a solemn prayer and they were the kind souls going up to the heavens. "Go on, Salem. Play the winter magic," Salem could only look at his muse and he strike another note, passing notes two steps from their 'haven'. Lula slowly ripped her wings for the last time and smiled to all the headless men. Her satin dress reveals her plumpy chest and an hourglass body. Lula is a goddess black swan. Men could only forward their eyes and threw her pennies once more and she could only move in her balletic conventional pose. For the last time, she flew with her black tinted wings and they were all beheaded. The white swans began to sing in a solemn outcry until it became too remorseful. The white swans turned their heads down when they met Lula's dead eyes. Her laugh echoing the whole stadium with its own persona and it is like crawling down into waltz where it reaches their earshot. They can only sing in albeit and expensive heads started to explode. "Two steps from hell," she sings.

8

I found a man of great Tilly stock, And asked him for a frilly walk, Unto which he said he’ll tell The way to Heaven and the way to Hell. “Pimply weaves of basket bread, And a golden goose upon the head; Let it squawk with plumpy feathers With that you’ll relinquish worldy tethers.” Frowned up in loofy days, “Sir tell me of your ghangly ways!” I loosed and cried; simply confused “Worry not my sun and moon your muse! For water is a half-penny to a tree, And snickle-snacks don’t sell for free. Yet if you must know of my tale, Then sit there yonder and make a trail.” However Sir, I am not meek I have no cunning for the week. “Your tale I do not wish to know, Simply tell me which way to go!” Crimpets high and yellow traps, “You’ll lose yourself with the bats. Go up; go down with nickle fritz, Beware to lose yourself upon the blitz For in rush and haste there in gleeb, Wear ignorance for the trancy steed. I let loose of many brumble yunk, To sail for seas I never thunk Yet wax and wane for waves ah-do, And loose bracknees in multitude. Traverse tall grass and shundy groves And you’ll lose those things you thought you loathe.” “My oh my old man I sigh, For those things be near nor nigh.” And with that I give my sullen reply And turned and a bid a fair goodbye. Yet upon reminiscence I bade in lye, And whim my eye not to cry. For in the tall tale of thy, Taught I was to live; not die. Question not a method sly. But he mumbled and grumbled, Though he never stumbled. Living for him he never frumbled. Many days he spent catching geese, Upon a head knit with fleece. OH! I should have let him talk; not cease For to iron a book you can use yeast. Heaven to Hell dived by two, Heed the old man and crux with yew. And ewe and ewe will catch the flu Sheep don’t lead in a society so true.

0

Mar 6, 2012

Mar 6, 2012 at 1:08 PM UTC

drew-plant

Perhaps Per Not

I found a man of great Tilly stock, And asked him for a frilly walk, Unto which he said he’ll tell The way to Heaven and the way to Hell. “Pimply weaves of basket bread, And a golden goose upon the head; Let it squawk with plumpy feathers With that you’ll relinquish worldy tethers.” Frowned up in loofy days, “Sir tell me of your ghangly ways!” I loosed and cried; simply confused “Worry not my sun and moon your muse! For water is a half-penny to a tree, And snickle-snacks don’t sell for free. Yet if you must know of my tale, Then sit there yonder and make a trail.” However Sir, I am not meek I have no cunning for the week. “Your tale I do not wish to know, Simply tell me which way to go!” Crimpets high and yellow traps, “You’ll lose yourself with the bats. Go up; go down with nickle fritz, Beware to lose yourself upon the blitz For in rush and haste there in gleeb, Wear ignorance for the trancy steed. I let loose of many brumble yunk, To sail for seas I never thunk Yet wax and wane for waves ah-do, And loose bracknees in multitude. Traverse tall grass and shundy groves And you’ll lose those things you thought you loathe.” “My oh my old man I sigh, For those things be near nor nigh.” And with that I give my sullen reply And turned and a bid a fair goodbye. Yet upon reminiscence I bade in lye, And whim my eye not to cry. For in the tall tale of thy, Taught I was to live; not die. Question not a method sly. But he mumbled and grumbled, Though he never stumbled. Living for him he never frumbled. Many days he spent catching geese, Upon a head knit with fleece. OH! I should have let him talk; not cease For to iron a book you can use yeast. Heaven to Hell dived by two, Heed the old man and crux with yew. And ewe and ewe will catch the flu Sheep don’t lead in a society so true.

52

so here I am, here I go. here I put my bottom, base on this shiny, gleamy surface. my face gleaming with joy. sitting, I can’t help but babble about how every movement moves a bubble, and how my wetness combines with the wet and cold from underneath. how about a nap, I ask? how about some deserved rest? it seems like an easy task, I don’t mind a random pest. laying down I feel the caress of the cold and liquid hand. hugging me down, I am flawless in my sparkly pose to mend my sleeping missed. all went good so far, I’m thinking. I’ll close my eyes for a wee bit. after sundown I get up. to sit some more, wet in my lap enjoying my portion of sunshine knit by those warm golden hands of her - the almost-sleeping beauty curved. caress me more while you can, in the night I’ll entertain my man the colder, bolder, plumpy gent who’ll make wet more cold. I can get ready to meet him, instead more sitting there, rather than unnecessary lifting the good-for-nothing clothes. already having gone through these roads I’ll lose my covers anyhow. now ********** to wow the silver moonlight. after all will be over he hands me down a four-leafed clover, laughing how good a joke that always is - knowing where my ***** sat and sits. I’ll smile politely and nod understanding time to cover myself, not anymore waiting to be in the spotlight. reaching a new low in such height, indecisive about what to do, I’ll choose not to choose. sitting in wet, red, I don’t lose.

0

Oct 12, 2020

Oct 12, 2020 at 11:12 AM UTC

andTilly

sitting in a puddle

so here I am, here I go. here I put my bottom, base on this shiny, gleamy surface. my face gleaming with joy. sitting, I can’t help but babble about how every movement moves a bubble, and how my wetness combines with the wet and cold from underneath. how about a nap, I ask? how about some deserved rest? it seems like an easy task, I don’t mind a random pest. laying down I feel the caress of the cold and liquid hand. hugging me down, I am flawless in my sparkly pose to mend my sleeping missed. all went good so far, I’m thinking. I’ll close my eyes for a wee bit. after sundown I get up. to sit some more, wet in my lap enjoying my portion of sunshine knit by those warm golden hands of her - the almost-sleeping beauty curved. caress me more while you can, in the night I’ll entertain my man the colder, bolder, plumpy gent who’ll make wet more cold. I can get ready to meet him, instead more sitting there, rather than unnecessary lifting the good-for-nothing clothes. already having gone through these roads I’ll lose my covers anyhow. now ********** to wow the silver moonlight. after all will be over he hands me down a four-leafed clover, laughing how good a joke that always is - knowing where my ***** sat and sits. I’ll smile politely and nod understanding time to cover myself, not anymore waiting to be in the spotlight. reaching a new low in such height, indecisive about what to do, I’ll choose not to choose. sitting in wet, red, I don’t lose.

45

You say I am a diamond In the middle of the ocean Least you know, about me So take caution and precaution For I am an iceberg Steady in my flow Harmless, but dangerous Yet, I mean to glow ***I shine I welcome I drown I wreck*** I am plumpy downwards And just a little above the waves So many hollows And yes, I have a cave Within me, I am no one Not a spirit or a living soul No one invited me, to come As I somehow drifted from the pole ***Alone adrift Alone forever*** When the sun shines Tears of joy roll down Making my head smaller And I begin to drown ***Slowly Painfully*** *I am melting I am melting* Down ○ ● ○ Exiting this realm into the next, Rising the ocean A level higher... ©sim

0

Aug 26, 2017

Aug 26, 2017 at 9:45 PM UTC

Seema

Melting Down

You say I am a diamond In the middle of the ocean Least you know, about me So take caution and precaution For I am an iceberg Steady in my flow Harmless, but dangerous Yet, I mean to glow ***I shine I welcome I drown I wreck*** I am plumpy downwards And just a little above the waves So many hollows And yes, I have a cave Within me, I am no one Not a spirit or a living soul No one invited me, to come As I somehow drifted from the pole ***Alone adrift Alone forever*** When the sun shines Tears of joy roll down Making my head smaller And I begin to drown ***Slowly Painfully*** *I am melting I am melting* Down ○ ● ○ Exiting this realm into the next, Rising the ocean A level higher... ©sim

38

Wake up in the morning Ready, I get. Beautiful I look. Set, I go. Thinking to myself is it love or a business deal... I look at him with eyes that are scared to blink. Kiss on the cheek, he gives. Fake smile he throws. Floating words he utters. Fucken lies he tells. Thinking to myself is it a business deal or love... Plumpy I look, Lovely I speak. But scared is my heart And lost am I. Thinking to myself is it love or a business deal... Rich, is he. Poor am I. Painted he looks, Crooked is his smile. Money he throws, Money I catch. Diamonds he gives, Crystal I wear. Dull is the mood And Gloomy are we. Closed is his heart, Beating fast is mine. Thinking to myself is it a business deal or love... In his house we arrive The main door closes. Romes around the house Curtains he rolls down Dim are the lights. In his room we go Carefully he lays me down Slowly he kisses me Gently he touches me... Softly he taps my ***** Turned on is he Rough he throws me Hard he ***** me. Thinking to myself is it love or a business deal... Satisfied is he !! Horrible I feel!! Shallow I look!! Shaking are my legs and cold are my thighs. Disgusted I look!! Sick I feel!! Ashamed am I. Glowing is he, Truly he smiles. HE HAS DONE HIS BUSINESS!!! Cold is my heart, Lovely he speaks. Shut is my mouth. Warm is the mood. HE HAS DONE HIS BUSINESS!!! Thinking to myself was it a business deal or love... Resentful am I towards a man, Afraid is my heart to love, Dubious am I to trust. Depressed am I behind closed doors, Ugly is my reflection in the mirror. Death is what I want to achieve, Suicide I attempt Knowing it was a business deal Fake love he perceived. Torn apart am I, Broken is my heart... HE HAS DONE HIS BUSINESS...

0

Dec 26, 2014

Dec 26, 2014 at 1:17 PM UTC

UzileUzzieMazaleni

business deal.

Wake up in the morning Ready, I get. Beautiful I look. Set, I go. Thinking to myself is it love or a business deal... I look at him with eyes that are scared to blink. Kiss on the cheek, he gives. Fake smile he throws. Floating words he utters. Fucken lies he tells. Thinking to myself is it a business deal or love... Plumpy I look, Lovely I speak. But scared is my heart And lost am I. Thinking to myself is it love or a business deal... Rich, is he. Poor am I. Painted he looks, Crooked is his smile. Money he throws, Money I catch. Diamonds he gives, Crystal I wear. Dull is the mood And Gloomy are we. Closed is his heart, Beating fast is mine. Thinking to myself is it a business deal or love... In his house we arrive The main door closes. Romes around the house Curtains he rolls down Dim are the lights. In his room we go Carefully he lays me down Slowly he kisses me Gently he touches me... Softly he taps my ***** Turned on is he Rough he throws me Hard he ***** me. Thinking to myself is it love or a business deal... Satisfied is he !! Horrible I feel!! Shallow I look!! Shaking are my legs and cold are my thighs. Disgusted I look!! Sick I feel!! Ashamed am I. Glowing is he, Truly he smiles. HE HAS DONE HIS BUSINESS!!! Cold is my heart, Lovely he speaks. Shut is my mouth. Warm is the mood. HE HAS DONE HIS BUSINESS!!! Thinking to myself was it a business deal or love... Resentful am I towards a man, Afraid is my heart to love, Dubious am I to trust. Depressed am I behind closed doors, Ugly is my reflection in the mirror. Death is what I want to achieve, Suicide I attempt Knowing it was a business deal Fake love he perceived. Torn apart am I, Broken is my heart... HE HAS DONE HIS BUSINESS...

71

The man I met on my journey Around the the world His Shadow at every corner A voracious being, dexterous with his teeth His ears only obey the demand of his belly Mouth litterd with unchewed crumbs From previous meals . A sluggard gait he had Plumpy and grumpy Each meal jumping in ready anticipation A heavy-handed aspiration for his unsatisfied hole . "I won't choke" He stereotyped I must have it all! I will have it all Man and his vain aspiration Only for the profit of the mouth

0

Dec 12, 2016

Dec 12, 2016 at 6:36 AM UTC

Drunk_poet

A bite after satisfaction

The man I met on my journey Around the the world His Shadow at every corner A voracious being, dexterous with his teeth His ears only obey the demand of his belly Mouth litterd with unchewed crumbs From previous meals . A sluggard gait he had Plumpy and grumpy Each meal jumping in ready anticipation A heavy-handed aspiration for his unsatisfied hole . "I won't choke" He stereotyped I must have it all! I will have it all Man and his vain aspiration Only for the profit of the mouth

17

I lay (in) fort puffed plumpy pillows under sheen of silk slopes up to touch you. We lay (in) fort slowly touching lips brushing fluffy puffy clouds crunching between teeth munching. You lay (in) fort sipping frothy velvety chocolaty drips between throat licking love making.

0

Mar 29, 2016

Mar 29, 2016 at 2:15 PM UTC

rochelle-roberts

Fort

I lay (in) fort puffed plumpy pillows under sheen of silk slopes up to touch you. We lay (in) fort slowly touching lips brushing fluffy puffy clouds crunching between teeth munching. You lay (in) fort sipping frothy velvety chocolaty drips between throat licking love making.

12

Her round face, The button nose, And sweet voice. Her glowing skin, The plumpy chin, And **** midriff. Her friendly nature, The Hïnđū outlook, And divine soul. Her infant thoughts, The youthful spirit, And zestful love. How should I not love her? She's my future partner of life, And why not, she's my future wife.

0

Jul 17, 2020

Jul 17, 2020 at 11:59 PM UTC

Atul

Her Cuteness

Her round face, The button nose, And sweet voice. Her glowing skin, The plumpy chin, And **** midriff. Her friendly nature, The Hïnđū outlook, And divine soul. Her infant thoughts, The youthful spirit, And zestful love. How should I not love her? She's my future partner of life, And why not, she's my future wife.

15

Late afternoon, the darkness is about to steal the light We are about to head back down the mountains of Mindoro A fire and smokes all over the trees, a "Kaingin" we encounter a family of three camouflaging the forest Looks like "Mangangahoy" making charcoal for a living A heart-crushing-afternoon scenario There is a man, who looks like the father An old woman seems to be the grandmother with a little kid, small and as cute as a button We barely see them as they're covered with dark smokes from woodfire Our truck stopped, offering them a ride The father loaded the sacks of wood The little boy trying to lift it with his bare little hands so small but he seems can carried heavy loads It's almost dark we sat at the back of the truck cargo bracing ourselves praying not to fall on a bumpy mountain road This little boy is beside me Indifferent I look at his adorable-plumpy-little face covered with dirt Eyes glistening with innocence A little jungle boy An angel of the forest he reminds me of Mowgli This bambino inhaling wood smokes daily working at a young age is a definition of a heartbreak something made me tear up inside it comes to a point where you don't know what to feel at the moment Reality is hurtful and the hardest part is handling your emotions This kid deserves better every kid in the world deserves better Circa 2019

0

Jun 6, 2021

Jun 6, 2021 at 2:59 PM UTC

lougene13

Mowgli.

Late afternoon, the darkness is about to steal the light We are about to head back down the mountains of Mindoro A fire and smokes all over the trees, a "Kaingin" we encounter a family of three camouflaging the forest Looks like "Mangangahoy" making charcoal for a living A heart-crushing-afternoon scenario There is a man, who looks like the father An old woman seems to be the grandmother with a little kid, small and as cute as a button We barely see them as they're covered with dark smokes from woodfire Our truck stopped, offering them a ride The father loaded the sacks of wood The little boy trying to lift it with his bare little hands so small but he seems can carried heavy loads It's almost dark we sat at the back of the truck cargo bracing ourselves praying not to fall on a bumpy mountain road This little boy is beside me Indifferent I look at his adorable-plumpy-little face covered with dirt Eyes glistening with innocence A little jungle boy An angel of the forest he reminds me of Mowgli This bambino inhaling wood smokes daily working at a young age is a definition of a heartbreak something made me tear up inside it comes to a point where you don't know what to feel at the moment Reality is hurtful and the hardest part is handling your emotions This kid deserves better every kid in the world deserves better Circa 2019

33

Hey there, pretty poet Since you're here You feeling tyred? Need a break? Welp, buckle up! Cause' we're gonna roll! (Hope you don’t brake into fits putt-putt-putt!) Whether it's on the long run, or just a minor tummy ache, we got your rear! Cough, cough Now, let's change views Or we might just get wheelie out of tow-pick! Aah, the evening sky! Earthereal as ever! I’m falling for its beauty! Why don't you log a jog! Don't worry, we'll be rooting for you! (Just don't fern-get the packet of dove-ritos I asked for) Whew! Talk about a cherry over the top! I think you’ve got some abs baking in your oven, hot-pot! Bet you're hungry! Don't beat around the bush, Just cut to the cheese! I’m an eggs-pert cook, y’know! Holy guacomoli! Don’t stare at me with those plumpy-eyes! Just listen to my porks for now, It’ll crack you up. Okay, that was fan-tabulous! The food? Mwah! Tele-iciois! Words can't desk-cribe my love for it~ Anyways, I think it’s about Time we wrap it up! Take a seat, *** And list-en to what I say, Before you bunk down You are loved You are chaired Sometimes, it might be hard to comp-rehend things, But that's okay, It'll work out! Don't forget, From clearing up the mess To express-ing your thoughts, We've got you covered! Because In this world of atomic stars, You matter! And in our hearts, Of a bonfire of love You are always home.

0

Aug 11, 2025

Aug 11, 2025 at 8:12 AM UTC

1DNA

A Pun-gent Ride Home!

Hey there, pretty poet Since you're here You feeling tyred? Need a break? Welp, buckle up! Cause' we're gonna roll! (Hope you don’t brake into fits putt-putt-putt!) Whether it's on the long run, or just a minor tummy ache, we got your rear! Cough, cough Now, let's change views Or we might just get wheelie out of tow-pick! Aah, the evening sky! Earthereal as ever! I’m falling for its beauty! Why don't you log a jog! Don't worry, we'll be rooting for you! (Just don't fern-get the packet of dove-ritos I asked for) Whew! Talk about a cherry over the top! I think you’ve got some abs baking in your oven, hot-pot! Bet you're hungry! Don't beat around the bush, Just cut to the cheese! I’m an eggs-pert cook, y’know! Holy guacomoli! Don’t stare at me with those plumpy-eyes! Just listen to my porks for now, It’ll crack you up. Okay, that was fan-tabulous! The food? Mwah! Tele-iciois! Words can't desk-cribe my love for it~ Anyways, I think it’s about Time we wrap it up! Take a seat, *** And list-en to what I say, Before you bunk down You are loved You are chaired Sometimes, it might be hard to comp-rehend things, But that's okay, It'll work out! Don't forget, From clearing up the mess To express-ing your thoughts, We've got you covered! Because In this world of atomic stars, You matter! And in our hearts, Of a bonfire of love You are always home.

52