If the laud dawg's willin'
and the crique don't ryes
I'll ululate with yews
under hazy, maizie skyes
with a belt unbuckled
and a cork unstopped
there'll be mooin' in the meadow
while we howl behind the shed.. oh,
let the mignonettes be truckled
on the sweet grass where we've flopped....
let the cat sup on the fries
as we croon, vermilion.....
attempting newer structure....
as the metes and bounds cry 'rupture'....
for the love of it, the pleasin'.....takin' off... oh, yes....ecdeezin'