Sir she said your fly,
Perplexed I looked,
Ah, I said, and gave a heavy sigh,
I beg your pardon Mom, I said,
Often now of late,
Open is this gate,
It’s a problem I do have,
An automatic habit now of late,
It’s my conscience,
Sort of some sort of guilt,
It’s a problem of compassion,
To see it so confined,
Does my conscience tweak,
So confined that little critter,
So I let it have a little tweet,
Like any bird it likes to twitter,
Not much exercise it gets of late,
I know it sounds up surd,
Has not flown or left the gate,
It’s sort of happy where it is,
Unless of course it’s rise,
And wants to fly,
The only reason I could see,
To raise its sleepy head,
It wants to go with you instead,
You pervert you, she yelled,
And in a huff away she flew.
Now I ask you, what is a man to do?
©04/04/2009
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Regis
Blessings and Love (and still laughing!) - Micke
Wickedly funny, you dirty old man! This is just great.
John
In Spirit,
Bear