
You all may call me widderschynnes
To choose defenestration.
A smorgasbord of better words
In your vocabulation,
But when some poor unfort'nate soul
Is from a window thrown,
You'll call upon my word of choice
And have to eat your own.
Mowing the lawn is such a chore. It makes my body tired and sore. Why do we persist in insisting so That grass can't be allowed ...
No comments:
Post a Comment