I could have told a simpler tale, without this pressing
N eed to string my snaky sentences around
E ach letter of a given word. But there again,
F itting phrase to form is half a poem’s fun.
F or pity’s sake, you cry, don’t leave us high and dry …
I s Blushing Bob to languish while Yellowbaby basks?
C ut to the chuffing chase, then, Bob’s turned whistle-blower!
I n a flash the fuzz tracked down those Lucky Charms,
E ach step a little closer to Yellowbelly’s hide.
N ow he’s in jug while Bob’s cheeks blush – though now, of course, with pride.
T he End. PS It’s not over till the jelly baby springs! (Oh yes it is! Ed.)
Image: Night Owls
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