It's really fine if you like fleas,
Or cats, big hats--those sorts of things.
Stuff like that musty lilac smell
That makes you feel not very well.
Stale cookies at noontime tea
That look like they're from last century,
Accompanied by lacy fruffy frills
And huge fake diamonds and gaudy pearls
Then there is someone you MUST meet,
Because, deep down, she is quite sweet.
Pay no attention to her tone
(For it can really grate in your bones).
This nice old, old, old, aged lady,
Who lost count of years long past eighty,
Somehow spotted me as I walked by.
WHY did I let her see me, oh why?
I must have been lost in thought,
Or else I wouldn't have gotten caught.
You see, to get safely past her house,
You have to be as sneaky as a mouse.
If these precautions are not made,
She'll snag you in for crusty lemonade.
The worst part about it all is this:
I always forget to make sure I get missed.
So whenever she's scouting for a victim
I'm the guy whose straw is the short one.
But don't get me wrong--I really do like her
I'd just like the attention to transfer.
If you can get past her minor flaws,
And happen to like talking about soap operas,
Then you can take my place each day
While I run far aw--I mean, go out to play.
Say... that's an idea. What're you doing?
This is something you could be pursuing!
Quick, here she comes, you'll be my decoy!
Wait! Come back! You'll really enjoy...
Rats. There goes another one,
Along with my afternoon in the sun.
With nowhere to hide, here comes Mrs. Screech,
Holding out to me half a bruised peach.
And it really looks like there's a worm in it.
~From the Adventures of Sean G. Mawry~
Adding your comment: