Any Old Moth-Eaten Universe
This plethora of pickles
Is all I have to wear
The situation tickles
Like an ingrowing hair
A myriad of mummers
Hiding in my cellar
I welcome all newcomers
If they're interstellar
A googolplex of gadgets
Stored inside my teeth
A wealth of dental magic
With amalgam underneath
This infinite collection
Of wacky Spoonbill verse
Provokes some introspection
But I s'pose it could be worse
Contributors: | F, Padfoot, Ethetran, Beefy, Grayman, quasi, Karin. |
Poem finished: | 17th October 2003 by Karin. |