
You are the slow worm
that catches the bird;
the slimy tove
that slithers unheard;
corkscrews round roots
of fallen firs
You are the monster
under the bed
who reaches out
to stroke my head;
lashes his tongue,
yet remains unfed
You are the grimble
in my jujube tree;
fiendish felon
with fallacious tendency;
your offer of fruit
seduces me
You are the apple
juice in my eye;
that stings my tears
as you smoothly slue by;
back to the undergrowth
to wither and die
A wonderful read, but I am allergic to fangs and slithering types! :o)
Thank you, Alan. Do they bring you out in scales? 🙂
Yes Jane. Mainly in the key of “G” :o)
🎼😄
Very Carrollian – a lovely mix of sense and nonsense that worked well on so many levels (but, mostly, ground level) G:)
Thank you, G. I shall have to aim higher next time 🙂