, , , , , , , , , , ,

I came across this a couple of weeks back and loved it so much it stuck with me enough to insist on a replay up here — raps on her skull with knuckles — that has led to the rarest of rarities . . . a reblog upon the Cloud! Excellent wordplay — enjoy.  The original page can be found by clicking on the title of the poem.
ps – The name of the author alone deserves a medal of some kind.
The roughage grows dark – by Minty Boffle

Once it may have been true to a point,
That the roughage was rough and the flample was goint,
But when looked down on it’s true that you see,
The flample was pample and goadingly droit

It once looked quite pretty when viewed in the dark,
The roughage, the pample, hung out in the park,
For sitting on swings and going all weeee,
But the droit came upon them and cut them a’grark

The pample did stample and the roughage did yank,
And across the sandpit the pair they did sank,
To rid them both ever of the nether-seen droit,
They pitched up a coodle and had a stout plank

But the roughage not covered beneath the pitch coodle,
Was exposed to the droit right on to his noodle,
And the pample did peek out a safe word to utter,
But the roughage was lost with it’s memory a doodle