She wished he would practice his singing,
for his was a voice of fine winging.
He noted her wish,
then got out some fish
and showed her an art they called "flinging."

Each timid response might have fashioned
an anger no light would have rationed.
Big jolts would have cleft
the ways the next weft
was wearing a sheen lives kept passioned.

The hues of our hair may not matter
as Nature produces its clatter.
I'd almost insist
that things form a gist
inviting whatever fresh patter.

I'm blonder 'cause I'm going gray
My dark hair is fading away
It's a sad thing, I know
But it really is so
The grayhair is now here to stay.

Quite florid indeed is the spring,
a moment when glory takes wing.
I happily ponder
why Eunice seems blonder
as beauty betokens a sting.

Blossom is starting to bloom
A bunch of it lights up a room
I just love the spring
The birds start to sing
And new growth sure brightens the gloom.

Our spencer is cool
He has now started school
He is just four
and he is never a bore
Hope he obeys the rules

Twelve earthquakes descended on us
and offered a very large fuss.
We spoke of how eager
we were to stay meager
and yet to have news to discuss.

Christchurch has rocked and has rolled
Many fine buildings did fold
It opened the ground
With a horrible sound
And the aftershocks still rumble bold.

There once was a marvelous child
whose ways never once were too wild.
His playmates perused him
and thoroughly bruised him,
but always his manner stayed mild.

Enjoying another fine dinner,
I noticed I wasn't much thinner.
I happily blamed
the fact life stays famed
for concepts akin to a grinner.

For dinner I had fish and chips
It has probably gone to my hips
But that lovely flavour
Is one that I savour
Delicious repast through my lips.

These lines may describe dear Irene,
endowed with her always fine sheen.
She sends out long letters
wherein sweet regretters
appear to have nibbled a bean.

This is the story of Dennis
Who was a grand master of tennis
With his lovely racket
He won quite a packet
His rivals all called him a menace.

Your motor develops a knocking
that says that all worlds do much mocking.
Your feet are the pedals
in charge of the treadles
that lend any moment a locking.

A truffle felt ready for spring,
despite how the birds then might sing.
A daffodil clamo[u]red,
as if quite enamo[u]red
of stories that spring from a wing.

Great thought is a bucket whose gleams
send chills that awaken big dreams.
Large intellects lately
have fashioned some stately
reminders that like how life steams.

You've scolded the hearts of your heart
for having no courses to chart.
Each sharp young observer
might guess you're a swerver
who nonetheless fashions great art.

Rotundity rules, rules, and rules
as I'm some strange blight nothing cools.
Eternally ready
for better bye-beddy,
I still am a creature that drools.

The globe of the world was upset
Its ground was getting all wet
The climate had faltered
For humans had altered
The balance. It sighed with regret.

A hash has begun to descend,
and soon it may form some fine trend.
The world is a globe
that looks for a robe
that somehow won't break and won't bend.

Few bunnies dislike me so much
they banish me out of their hutch.
I tend to stay hoppy
and also quite floppy
while never quite owning a touch.

A bunny so furry and cute
Thought teasing the cat was just beaut
His usual role
Was to peep from his hole
And bombard the pussy with fruit.

A bunny had carried some eggs
whose weight had exhausted his legs.
The year was a doozy
that gave the jacuzzi
a shine that demolished most dregs.

I'm gathering lilies for you,
you perfect provider of stew.
You seem very ready
to help me resteady
my doubts as to what remains true.