A handkerchief, tall and rough,
Was scratching the sky with a puff
The blindness invited the beach
To ruffle the bacon's speech
The lake of the whisper got hit by the crisper
The smell of the hum's very reach
The kingdom of woolen nuts
Demanded the truth made of guts
The toothpaste fell of the chair
And kissed the despicable air
The pen of the puffin had jumped like a muffin
The lamp left a stone in despair
A pretty left-handed pie
Was built by the luminous cry
The mist was begging the floor
For it to defend his war
The dust of the balance would scream at the palace
The pepper was gliding no more
***
© Copyright: Багрецова Анастасия, 2014
Свидетельство о публикации №114010702026
Свидетельство о публикации №114010702026
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