Full of ever changing clouds.
But the occasional comet,
Which is definitly astronomic,
Tears all the clouds to shrouds.
I swear it was so.
Thus I hurt my knee, and had to walk rather slow.
In retaliation, I burnt my shoelaces.
Now I have to get new ones.
When they grow in the garden of a witch.
For there the desired plants have propensities,
Of possessing ugliness in great densities.
Always being used.
And if you overuse it,
It knows just what to do,
A credit card stops working,
And a tree will fall on you.
But then it became colorful, lustrous, vivid.
Ah, the wonders of plasma TV.
Sets over the black mountains,
Illuminating clouds, turning them bright colors,
Over the smooth ocean,
With dark black ripples,
That contort the reflections of the clouds,
As they float away.
The sun is gone,
After a long day,
It rests beyond our view,
But still alive,
Brightening another day, in another land.
But here, it becomes dark,
The coolness of the night settles in,
Eventually turning the red clouds,
Once white, to black shadows in the night sky.
Odysseus was a cunning man,
He defeateed many a foe,
A fearsome warrior in his prime,
He had a strong unwavering glow.
Polyphemus was a Cyclops,
A fearsome, brutal dude,
Who drank of Odysseus's liquor,
And ate his men for food.
But Odysseus he was cunning,
He knew how to be sly,
He doped Poyphemus with no dearth of drink,
And drove a stick into his dripping eye.
Odysseus was a cunning fox,
He was a wise old owl,
He was smart enough to never have,
To throw in the towel.