Giggly, wiggely, piggeldy toes,
Stare back from the covers at me.
A pinkely, winkeldy, piddy tree grows;
Like missle toes shot in a spree.
Yet were my tootselie wootselies true,
Not just a wandering round;
I'd be footloosely fancily free,
Not just face-planted a ground!
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