Thursday, April 11, 2013

a sellers rhyme

i once was a seller, a hairy combed feller, who made batches of bisquets from rye. 

who grew tired of the spicket 
auburned pliers-let them stick-it 

to any Mad Willy who'd comply

I prefer boxes of matches to pixels and faxes
and lend a helping hand 

if there's cake.

but what i won't do 
is blame phill for the stew

that i traded for risotto and stake.

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