"twibe" poems
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.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 2:42 AM UTC