Friday, August 12, 2016

Cunning Old Fury

The army is on red alert.
The blouse is on sale.
She's on the verge of madness.

He stood on principle
And insisted on metaphor.
Our existence is on the rocks.

The mysteries on earth
Are on to the enemies of the vague.
Now she's on to him.

The cur plays on her fears.
The rain drums on the roof.
He puns on her rights

As she relies on her wits.
Prepositions are on the short list
Of lists we really depend on.

His argument rests on his paws.
You and whose honest army?
She jests. The jury's hung. Game on.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.