Fraught with huge mistakes,
my life should now lean fatly
toward selfish reproof.

Hiddden beneath dreams,
our many fresh urges probe
in search of starkness.

Our hot, hot summers
along with our chill winters
have iced our danders.

Your summons court love
implying rackets that net
large flops worlds cherish.

Humongously deceased,
we plan to throw big parties
highly skeletal.

Sordidly alive,
I'm cleaning up my main act
once things disprove me.

Always observant,
our ocular organs see
life's very death throws.

Forevermore you
and I may seem full of strength
that marauds nicely.

Assured of glory,
my concepts will continue
to seek asylums.

During our lives, short
as those tend to be, we long
for timely illness.

Apple pie when chilled
has the decided merit
of cutting mustard.

Peachiest sherbet
we almost ought to pity
once winter heats up.

Icecream whenever
the sun becomes far too hot
ends up as dripping.

When bananas split,
I coolly scream and then slip
into a toga.

Beside some briars
sat other special thorn feasts
sometimes loverly.

Among the daisies
were other lovely blossoms
now quite forgotten.

In any weather
we produce fresh miracles
and basic rotting.

Absolutely sure,
we soon will turn fresh corners
likely to plow us.

Trumpets blare loudly
whenever warfare grows full
of brass most brazen.

Accordions play
noisily marvelously
when squeezed into dearths.

Cold beer hoppingly
convinced me to seem bitter
regarding small schmaltz.

A star I revere
seemed as near to delicious
as my last milkshake.

Concessions produce
enough perfect lemonade
to summon summer.

Some Queens of my heart
(**quite lovely versifiers**)
wield glorious wit.

A monarch decreed,
in quite stark and near clear tones,
of flown margarine.