yvette smith (LONDON)

It was a wibbly wobbly 'affair'

Where dibbly dobbly was nibbling

Wibbly wobbled her way

She moggled his muggle

Then turned away

He was smitten smocked dead

By this little twiddle kitten

But in the hot clime of a humid day

his wibble sighed and flobbed away

She moggled his muggle one last time

As he slid and was slewn into slime

She sigh eyes wept still

She sunk skid into a small pool

By the window sill

Slod into one slum

At last they made molten...in thawing

Became one!

yvette m smith sept 08