Some Avant Garde Nonsense
July 4, 2008 11:56am CST
A curious infraction in plight of jest, When woe betide at her behest, In grim staccato in turn I find, Her silky touch has made me blind. Raptured by her sly beguile, And led astray all through the while, By the collar I was led, And all because she gave good head. The scheming fiend has come and gone, Into the night she went anon, And folk will ask "Where did she go?" Buried, as she is, under the patio...