Wednesday, August 04, 2004

Poetry

Rub a dub dub,
Three peeps in a tub,
And who do think they be?
The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker...
But what I want is KFC.

Spells of a dizzy sort,
Not in the least due to port,
Lavender pieces in my sock,
Might be suffering mental block.

Too happy to care about,
Too much meat might lead to gout,
Too much too soon of ice-cream,
The circumstances look quite grim.

Gargoyles and gorgans
Occupy my brain,
Tesco 8p noodles,
I have to refrain,
Lest I become slightly insane,
And mimic a djin in its gothic shoes.

Believe it or not, the plural of moose, is mooses.

Dancing round in ballet pumps,
Do I have a hippo rump?
Ostriches in Timbuktu,
Satisfy me when in stew.

Am thinking of Fantasia,
Of winged beasts and horned creatures,
The darkness settles, no light breaks through...
Then suddenly I think of Chinese food.

Strykos, a name that comes to mind,
But nothing follows his behind.

A bit of news to date, Carls cut my hair yesterday and it's now just above my shoulders in some parts and just below in others. When I look at my new haristyle, the words jagged, sliced, layered and English Teddy Bear comes to mind. I'll leave you to imagine what it has turned out to be but I for one am pretty happy with it - I mean, not everyone would dare go through such a dramatic course of action. by the way, I was Carly's haristyling debut on a female head of hair.

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