Christopher Byrne


I wandered round the garden gnome, alone, except for me
I started to imagining, not knowing what I see
I thought I spied a Gimble, a-gimbling in the grue
I see the gruesome Gimble, and don’t him make me spew

I’m sure I saw a Gurtle, a-gurtling in the grebe
I saw the grinning Gurtle, and would it never leave?
I saw a gentle Marzipan, as fleet as you or I
I saw the mental Marzipan and thought I heard him cry

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