The Hopscotches are Growling
The Creature wouldn't seem so bad if only he spoke clearly
Despite his garbled, mangled speech, I learned to love him dearly.
Abnormal though his brain may be, his heart is sweet and true
And yet I knew
It would not do
His heart was broke--and so was mine, each time he said "I wruuuuuv wrou"
And incoherently declaimed that all he'd done he'd undo
Leprous though his foot may be, his heart's a valentine
Sweet Creaturehood
"Fire...goooood"
"Me's feets iz sore, my's schpeech siz poor, but Creature's nots'a demon"
It hit me then!--a heart transplant! And since, I've been a'schemin'
To find a willing victim; whose heart was never used
Who's still unbruised
I am confused
Such paradox--no unused heart will give itself away!
Avarous organ, then how will I find a way?
The Creature spoke; he said (I think), "Heart goooood...it be okaaay"
Then fell upon the ground, and lifeless did he lay
Soon he'll decay
I shall not stay
Contributors: | asdf, Karin, snoods, Beefy, Kansas Sam, F, tonedeaf, Anon., anon, Nym. |
Poem finished: | 22nd July 2003. |