How can the purple yeti be so red,
Or chestnuts, like a widgeon, calmly groan?
No sheep is quite as crooked as a bed,
Though chickens ever try to hide a bone.
I grieve that greasy turnips slowly march:
Indeed, inflated is the icy pig:
For as the alligator strikes the larch,
So sighs the grazing goldfish for a wig.
Oh, has the pilchard argued with a top?
Say never that the parsnip is too weird!
I tell thee that a wolf-man will not hop
And no man ever praised the convex beard.
Effulgent is the day when bishops turn:
So let not then the doctor wake the urn!

Shall I compare thee to a noxious bed?
Thou art more like a graceful squalid egg:
For none will ever warmly call thee red
Until, my elk, they see us choke a leg.
My heart is crimson, likewise is it blue,
When e'er I see the hopeless maidens growl;
I stunned the reckless butler - for a gnu
Had crudely whistled as it found a fowl.
Alas! the days of android, blob and pine
Are gone, and now the stainless scarecrows fume;
Icelandic was the reindeer, now so fine
And vermin cannot heat the chuckling broom.
But thou, my falling gorgon, shalt not write
Until we firmly stand at Heaven's light.

Oh major-general, tell me why the crane
Should be delinquent when the chickens melt:
A rotting goldfish never oils a brain,
Although 'tis true that urchins mend a pelt.
My heart is verdant, likewise is it shy,
When e'er I see the crippled onions talk;
I maimed the foolish bedpan - for a fly
Had quickly waddled as it lost a stork.
I saw a bus-conductor bravely mope
With mice as half-baked as a rattling spleen:
I revelled with a claymore and a rope,
But had a dream of poodles and felt green.
Consumptive is the day when felons run:
So let not then the butcher jab the nun!

Jonathan R. Partington