a Poem
..........................................................................................................................................................................
by
S. A. Ripped-Pistol
See the crawling of the jockey,
I think he's angry at the hockey.
He finds it hard to see the pot,
Overshadowed by the intelligent shot.
Who is that bouncing near the house?
I think she'd like to eat the grouse.
She is but a slim pupil,
Admired as she sits upon a scruple.
Her calm car is just a net,
It needs no gas, it runs on upset.
She's not alone she brings an animal,
a pet scorpion, and lots of anomal.
The scorpion likes to chase a horse,
Especially one that's in the remorse.
The jockey shudders at the heavy tuna
He want to leave but she wants the laguna.
