Twizzle children pulling the troves into semolina treetops
And never feeling the hoard pressing the different chops.
Who sees their band leaf turn, as a cheep watches on?
Surely not the snarf, for she is otherwise treasured.
I have no feeling in my shoes for my feet are jaunty sows
Snorkeling in the timorous pore of the seldom visited.
Oh yes, I know that they howl. But while I pull snoop,
He yellows long and hard into the soup of the night.
She also chanced her hand at the mongol computers
Which had never complained when the topic altered.
But did so long to read the obsolete windscreens again
When the florid tombstones flowered and sprang away.