blogs_blog_1475

Sir, while I do respect your rights,

I doubt you should be allowed to write.

Bad poetry day comes but once a year,

and your poem is far too decent to hear.

Do us a favor, set aside your pen,

and wait till the Day of Rhymes comes again.

"Oh freddled gruntbuggly/thy micturations are to me/As plurdled gabbleblotchits on a lurgid bee.

Groop I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes. And hooptiously drangle me with crinkly bindlewurdles,

Or I will rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon, see if I don't!"