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From Things You Find in a Poet's Beard by A.F. Harrold
Great grey belly porker,
toothy yawning slug,
'I'm fed up looking like Father Christmas,'Muttered Father Christmas one year.'I need a new outfit. I must move with the times.
The Hairyboos were hairy, the Smoothyboos smooth.
But they lived side by side and were never rude.
Deep in the depths of a dark, dark pool lives a water monster named Billy McCool. He's got shiny scales of pink candy ice
Say, Good mornin, Granny MaamaGood mornin, Grandpa Taata.Good mornin when it rainin.Good mornin when sun shinin.Good mornin.
Jumbie jump highJumbie jump lowJumbie jumpin to calypso
Jumbie doin a dancein de silk-cotton treehe waitin for jouvayan steelban music to breakaway
Lying on the sofaall curled and meekbut in my furry-fuzzy headthere's a rapping beat.Gonna rap while I'm nappingand looking sweet
To vaguely amuseAnd banish the bluesWriting clerihewsI would choose.
Mr MerryhewWould ferry youAcross the Thames at BrayOn a tea tray.
Bring on your shining armour, dude.I'll be your damsel in distress with attitude.
I am the word juggler.I juggle the wordslike swords.I slice sensewith poetic license.