"shnurple" poems
The little shnurple speads its wings
and sings of heaven's hellish kings
Adrift on memories future flung
Swinging, belting all eight lungs.
Awash, it never comes nor goes
It just is, what no one knows.
Flicking from the back of minds
Dismisplacing the meanest kinds.
Tick-Wicking prickles
Fig-Wiggling giggles
*** for tat
It neither qualms nor quibbles
Just lifts is hairy airs and sniffles.
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 8:16 AM UTC