They roamed free, stench a-waft They roamed 'pon the lawn, the garage, up in the loft. The underpants roameth wherever they please Emitting the foulest of stenchy brown breeze.
They disgust but a few, what a rancid smell An horrific aroma straight out of hell, So friends, and kin, and family, I beg Please lay off the curry and sprouts and egg.
Roameth they did, like a very fine wine, They roameth so far, they began to shine! Shineth they did, they shineth, like gloss! A sheen so bright it couldn't give a toss.
It couldn't give a toss about it's neighbour, called Barry, Whom no-one would marry... Because he recently slipped in a pool of custard and bruised his knee. Poor Barry.
Many thanks - this is the sort of endorsement I was looking for... and admittedly, as an aspring new poet, crave for.
If you're good I might post a few more for consideration. Not too many though as I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise obviously.
Many thanks - this is the sort of endorsement I was looking for... and admittedly, as an aspring new poet, crave for.If you're good I might post a few more for consideration. Not too many though as I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise obviously.