As riveted as we all are
by beauty, let's light no cigar.
The fumes of a stogie
create some real bogey
in forms of a stench that can scar.

She thought that the sensible answer
for all his despair would be cancer.
She gave him injections
that murdered connections,
and he soon was love's perfect answer.

We surely are going toward heights
that likely will punch out our lights.
The more we're ascendant,
no special defendant
may hono[u]r our bursts and our bites.

She had much great knowledge of how
his efforts created a scow.
She sometimes had stated
the news of how dated
were many remarks on a vow.

Though making new money can be
much work it stays easy for me.
I've stamped out (say) many
fine forms of false penny,
as I'm some bright knight rank with glee.

There was a man who worked in the mint
Who went on a thieving stint
No one ever knew
But when he went to the loo
His poo had a golden glint

When beseiging a castle you must
Put faith in your armor, and trust
The knight by your side
When forces collide
And hope you're not liable to rust

Ferocity leapt at a throat
and bravely recrossed the last moat.
Each day soon was dreary
but never too weary
to seek a quite floatable boat.

The polish I wear on my nails
is something that never quite fails.
My mirrors each tingle
at how I remingle
all thought into valueful veils.

"The glass" (in olde Shakespeare) could mirror
persisting that always seemed queerer.
((Now "queerer" -- to me --
tends often to be
reflective of hairdressers drearer.))

I look at the back of the glass
Where time isn't liable to pass
Though atmosphere rocky
And dread Jabberwocky
Are liable to make comments crass

When I look at the mirror reflection
It fills me right up with dejection
More grey hair here
More wrinkles there
I think I should stop this inspection.

The silken reflections you offer
propose that each thought is a scoffer.
We likely agree
that worlds remain free
to love all the sorrow worlds proffer.

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.

Since teak is a version of wood
both lovely and strong, we feel good.
We fashion our tables
and chairs and our stables,
and (also) we smoke -- as worlds should.

Wood is a substance most fine
Polished it glows with high shine
To carve it's A-one
And it is such fun
To build with exquisite design.

Fine magpies prove raucous in chatter,
as creatures that voiced own strong patter.
Loud singers are good
at sounding like wood
about both to burn and to clatter.

A parrot's a chattering bird
One that's both seen and is heard
When visitors come
The bird's never dumb
He copies the guest's every word.

Rekindling the fires of deep love
may call for a hand with no glove.
Such action could merit
the sheen of a parrot
whose flutters create no sad shove.

Quite huge fresh selections of gloves
allow many gals to be doves.
When glove types are handy,
few beaches seem sandy
as darlings embrace their lost loves.

An endless supply of fine shoes
Enables a woman to choose
A style for each dress
So she isn't a mess
And she doesn't mis-match, which she rues.

She's given to gentle kind ways
that brighten all hours, weeks, and days.
Her styles of behaving
may wake no real raving,
but much of her glory quite stays.

The robins were singing their songs
accusing no moment of wrongs.
(I sat in my slippers --
those wonderful flippers --
and wished that some slippers were gongs.)

My doves and my pigeons make oceans
seem great for quite special devotions.
I cherish bright seas
for tending to squeeze
fine Sanskrit right out of my motions.

Con artists know plenty of pigeons
Are yearning for brand-new religions
Therefore the results
Are new-fangled cults
And this explains faithful origins