Monday, 8 August 2011

Pome for the day

Savage noble Iago Prytherch, has manifested in here ntly to enpoemfy, in his disgusting whiney-grating North Walean accent - a bit like scouse, for some reason that is unclear to anyone. But I think it's safe to dismiss him. I'd rather be a wog than a gog. Actually, I'd rather be a dog. I could drink out of toilets and be happy. Unfortunately, he says he won't go until he's said it. But they're not addictive.

How nice to be a flutter-by
With compound brain and fractured eye
And ne'er the flit to wonder why
But just respond to stimuli
How nice indeed, not nice at all
But not for long before the fall.

The wind is like the sea but thin
The flutter-by is thicker in
Its arms command the desert djinn
And waves upon the lands of sin
Now every being surely knows
The flutter-by will come to blows.

So flotsam on the ocean fears
Pass through this vale of telomeres.

REJ:- Perhaps 20Mg more.