Mistral slakes the crowing dawn

casting chill upon the eerie lake

and grates upon the dandy rakes

who gather on the faerie lawn.

For it was published high and low

to any chancer that could scheme

the lady wears a widow's gleam

til bell is rung and ambers glow.

They traipse into the faerie set

the buzzing, oozing and the slick

the wheedling curious and the sick

to grasp the widow's golden net.

The flirtish dandy is the worst

of the mad and slithly breed

who wantonly wish to spear the seed

and pin the faerie with unholy curse.

Direst of all the blackthorn lance

the dandy keepest in his troon

a single touch makes the faerie swoon

red hot with passion for the dance.

Did none advert the flirty ones

that dainty shoes with sharpish hooves

spider silkspun flounces loose

with direst pleasance also runs?

Through grimly shades you may glance

the dandy rising to the lady's maw

the blackthorn dangling now in awe.

until the faerie lady ends the dance.

There was you and

there was me. We

slept under that

bumble-tree.

With crumbled things

and struggled deep

to play a game like

hidean'seek.

We rumbled free

like roots or leaves

when yanked from earth

or cold-breath preened.

Whispered, "Why's that

willa weep?"

And kissed like finders

play hidean'seek.

We swung like knees

on shins and see:

Kept my word like 

Bible sleeves.

Fisted our clothes and 

rustled our needs

and forever we dozed:

You and me.

@Finder : Edited.

The puddlesplunks riffling the meandarling eat aunty's angelfood cake.

They muckleperk under the piano ring and slice it with a rake.

To wellow in marshmallows, oh what a glorious thing!

To yellow off tomorrows, pavillions prisming!

I would you knew such pleasures.

I should you meet mine joys,

The sparkling of my peepers,

Mine own true Dalí boys.

Pitter pat the mouse ran fast,

But Peter the cat would have little and less to do with that.

Pitter patter the mouse ran faster, but

Peter purred for food from master.

Peter doesn't partake in chase after measly morsels such a mouses.

Only after laser dots in houses. 

All this is fine for this feline

known fondly as Peter the benign.

I swear I don't mean to be fickle,

But I want my food sans the pickle,

If I eat them my tongue will tickle,

And I won't pay you a nickel.

This stanza works by itself,

So I dropped it onto the next shelf,

And no, it won't all rhyme,

Because I haven't got all that time.

If you think that was bad,

This'll make you more sad,

'Cause there are rhymes to be had,

But I'm lazy.

I regret just a tad,

That this rhyme's scantily clad,

But if I don't rhyme I might just go crazy.

I guess that I'm done,

These lines have been fun,

No works under the Sun,

Can bring back this one...

Maybe

Biggie Bear Blue and Mister Magee

Traveled to town at a quarter to three 

One came on a skate, the other a shoe

They sang just as loud as a pugabaloo 

The townsmen just sat on their hands and they say

Quick as the two came they just ran away

The Polpen Sufter, thrice daspald by the Terkles, now flees in fozzled hist. Jippeting away in secret, the Sufter thought himself frinzed, but alas one ragden boy does fammen after him, though out of innocent culfint rather than any sort of desire to tunsk the Sufter or have him captured.

The sky has grown pansky by the time the boy reaches the Sufter's carhaun, so he fernalls up to get some sleep. During the night, two Terkles come upon the boy and, thissumning him a Polpen, skewtear him.

With his iseemering death, the boy's story is cut sargally short.