they is lots of poems
I know some of the topic
But no one else does
Each being cryptically cyclopic
I choose to be enamored of the panorama
so I cover them all
I wake up in the morn
And go at it hit and miss
best worse good bad
who gives a shiss
I’ve made a study
(four courses, 3 betas and a zed)
and I paid my fees
withheld a bit. enuf to say
more poetry, please
Traveled to El Dorado
in the back of an el camino
to get bit by a tseate
not a good time but
made a good rhyme
when I wrote my treatise
Singsong is an art formin the back of an el camino
to get bit by a tseate
not a good time but
made a good rhyme
when I wrote my treatise
developed by a long extinct race
hominids and hominoids alike
whose ears so inclined
to hear only sappy, carefree, sugary
the first and biggest smiley face
nada de malada or evil sublime Homo Pollyannicus lived it up
till their ears bled in the end
then ensued an utter utmost
nary another, absolute
and forever, total decline
singsong is the legacy,
impaired yet noble call
of a long forgotten race
who as over the mountain
they faded and dimmed
from their race a last noble call
"Nice trip, see you in the fall."
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