What's up? It seems this poem is blank,
Who do you suppose we have to thank?
Who gave our various chains a yank?
Whoever it was, they really stank.
Who knows? Perhaps the poems were rank.
Our chains yanked and some hearts broken,
Yet daylight at tunnel's end, a tiny token,
We can now gain access before we all have croaken!
Yes, my fine poet fellows, truer words were ne'er spoken.
'Twas I, 'twas I who did the dastardly deed!
But from blankness, it has been freed,
By you and me and Mortimer Sneed;
You know what I really think I need?
Why, an old clay pipe and a coat of tweed.
An old clay pipe and a coat of tweed you say?!
More exciting I'll bet, you, as a naked jay!
A hairless monkey; bare! Egad I do pray,
For, I feel I've lost my senses here this day.
Our poem, OUR POEM, written as if
Sky written. Have you gotten a wiff
Of what's in my pipe? It's stuffed with kiff!
It gives my poetic skills a gentle lift.
It makes my eyes water and my nose sniff.
Your smoke...your pipe, I love your smoke.
If I were there; would you let me toke?
We could smoke some kiff and drink some coke.
Maybe even share a dirty joke!