Yon doorknob seems stuck, but we will
attempt to attack it with skill.
I hereby am giving
such room to good living
as hurts every chance of a spill.

All grapes that are juicy and sweet
contribute much splendor we greet.
My guess often gives you
a life that outlives you
as moments appear to compete.

Grapes really can seem quite appealing
when heightening formats of feeling.
We surely sense verve
whenever our nerve
quite hotly avoids much congealing.

Grapes are a wonderful fruit
Their sweetness has flavour to suit
When made into wine
It is great when you dine
If you choose just the right one it's beaut.

Chilled soda remains my main drink
as through further moments I slink.
I'm gladly reporting
I'm never contorting
when soft drinks invite me to stink.

Of all the fine drinks in my cup
There is nothing that I'd rather sup
Than a drink in a bag
It helps me not sag
Yes, tea. So I drink it all up.

tea is the stuff I love to drink
For I always like to sit and think
if we had no tea
what would happen to me
I would be on the brink

Fine wine and (say!) wonderful whiskey
allow us to seem nicely frisky.
We'll sit by a door
and seldom deplore
the fact our strong voices stay husky.

I really do pine
If I don't drink fine wine
For lunch or tea
It's the drink for me
I never decline LOL

Fine food and some forms of cool drink
kept seeming to bring in pure pink.
I gladly intuit
your tea and might brew it
while proffering words that don't stink.

Sometimes it's difficult to be
So wonderfully free, you see
there are so many tasks
it's a real lot to ask
to be free with enough time for tea

Among the refinements of being
may be some alignments of seeing.
Against any tree
will bumble a bee
whose hope is for optimal skiing.

A sheep and a wolf once had kids,
and each of those kids made strange bids.
One kid asked for cheeses,
another for squeezes,
and one kid craved cans and old lids.

A wolf can look cunning and sly
But that is just how he gets by
A wolf needs to eat
To stay on his feet
So running down prey he must try.

Most wolves are quite howling successes,
though Brucie too sadly digresses.
Most sheep remain rich
at seeming to stitch
in favo(u)r of of jollier tresses.

A different sheep had a worse day
He encountered a wolf on the way
His wool and his insides
Eaten up, and besides
The wolf howled out and yelled "Yay!"

A sheep with a full coat of wool
Thought he was looking so cool
But when he was shorn
His pride was all torn
For he felt that he looked like a fool.

Surrendering all we now own
will let us feel good when we groan.
We surely are raggèd,
but nothing's so jaggèd
improvements can't visit each tone.

He surely exhibits a verve
that seemingly cuts to each nerve.
His evident reason
for being in season
has something to do with his serve.

Around every stick was a stack
of words that might mount an attack.
The sky spewed a hovel
of hope life might shovel --
and of a dark shade that stayed black.

When I was a little, wee thing
I used to get sick on a swing
To go to and fro
Upset me, you know.
As I flew like a bird on the wing

He seemed to have won huge affection
from her, though she showed no connection.
Her eyes sometimes shone,
and she had a moan
that almost demanded correction.

The choir seemed chock-full of great greatness
along with some eerie sedateness.
Advice to each singer
performed like a bringer
of maybe too much true first-rateness.

I know some gilrs in a choir
I could listen hour after hour
They make a fine noise
keeps them away from the boys
while wearing special attire

The choir disturbed by the noise
Got their own back on these horrible boys
They stayed in wait
after choir quite late
And instilled in them far more poise.