Put a stick of butter in the pot,

And we shall call it even.

Make this water boil over,

And leave the cover off the top.

What a sinister green smile,

To blush over,

I think not.

Only to be a snicker jolly,

This green giant is a soddy sour sop,

Or in a stainless steel vest,

Like a round of mucky cops.

Prince,

do come see me,

in your shiny British armor,

I won’t wait a lady day later to fill,

Oh darn you dear,

my hindered hundredth wintery fresh ware

Because it knots,

And I do care when it drops,

Some disco ball,

He could be,

When my toe jots.

Yes, don’t we all…

Know keenly when,

the tea kettle pops.

To every better day; to every thin wine of smitten loss.