ODD BODS
Ok so I live in a strange land,Where odd bods go about holding hands.
Eggs are made of rubber bands.
All the sandwiches are made of sand,
A world were buffalo bee's give milk.
The clouds travel around on a pair of stilts,
All the whales travel across the land.
The passage of time is sometimes slow,
If you have somewhere not to go.
Yet to sleep in a fluffy cloud,
Where fireflies light up the moonless sky.
When the moon decides it's time for bed;
It's warmer to sleep in the treacle mines,
During winter times so I heard it said.
A place where the son's of man did band,
Turned into angels by a strange symbiotic land.
Where buttercups make the loveliest of tea's,
The flour mines the best of coffees.
In this wonderful mysterious of land's,
The rolling hills rolls across the shifting sands.
The treacle mines stay open all the time,
Where the Cheeselets scamper down the mines.
It's time for bed past there supper time.
As I bed down in my fluffy cloud,
I've only one more thing to say,
Goodnight, See you all another day.
Poetry by Alan J Ripley
Read 107 times
Written on 2022-12-27 at 02:51
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