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WHAT?

It was on a day
In almost May
When first I heard of the joon
They say he gormished
And possibly tormished
By the light of one half a full moon

He used to be seen
And was quite bleen
In and around the square
The spin and the turns
Of his little egg yerns
Stirred up the bright morning air

He was old alchemy
This little shmee
And a favorite of the Muse
With his lighted snarkle
And usual darkle
He inspired us all to cruise

On streets of desire
We’d never tire
Putting our senses to schmoo
We’d go to far places
With unusual faces
And forget all about the maloo

By the nose we were lead
And did not dread
To find the new and gripatious
The Muse along side us
The joon would hide us
Our ideas soon went pallatious

The truth of these pages
Has bypassed the sages
As they go through the centuries
Giving it a read
My mind does feed
And break out in light blencheries

The words are right
But you fight
To have them make some sense
See how the joon
Felt about foone
You might have to stay on the fence

There are the things
That have odd rings
And you’re not really sure about
Go where they jubb
Follow that phlub
And delve into wonderful doubt

You don’t understand it
And don’t demand it
Yet it may have something of worth
Nargles from nowhere
Are suddenly there
Like an early loud morning birth

Your body and mind
On the thin line
Between unrealities
Can serve quite well
If you can sell
The whole to the burning freeze

We speak in riddles
And play our jiddles
And watch the rain come blappen
So I’ll wait
And anticipate
Watching for the next word to happen!