Has the air grown fuzz? There's in the air a buzz.
I thought I thought of something, but forgotten what it was... .
Reality become mirage; mirage become a dream,
Shall I keep on in this vein to gain your high esteem?
How flirty words like flitty birds and bees do oft decree,
That poetry as writ by me is honey poured for thee:

"Honey, there's a madman and his metre's not quite right"
Said the banker to the merchant's wife in the middle of the night.
Merchant's wife's merchant, his own tongue now quite tied,
Was laid up in a liar's bed, for he himself had lied
'Bout bouts of hosed on hosiery, oh what a sticky sight,
Along with mules and midgets giving Banker's wife a fright.

And finally, to conclude, this sonnet poured today,
A rhyming couplet signed, "Regards, Pervert/Poet Clay"

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