A rainbow is created, frozen in time
Free of all woes, worries or menial care
And so I give away the stolen, unripe lime.
This stolen, unripe, sour lime
Originated in the marketplace
I stole it around dinner-time
So I could have it to scrub my face.
I scrubbed with it, yummy juice
Though sour and kinda green
My face turned a luminescent puce
And so I left the mouse, unseen.
I gave that nasty fruit
To my enemy
I left it in a boot
And told it to chimney.
My nemesis is a little newt
He has a big, tubular head
He delights limes and roots
And he loves the taste of syrupy meds.
He is so beyond me
Our spectrums, far apart
I say coffee, he cries for tea
I write words, but painting is his art.
Though we are polite as can be
Something about that little lizard
His face, his hate of poetry
Really strikes me in the gizzard.
This little newt fellow
Who buys his boots in bulk
He found the lime in marshmallow
And proceeded home to sulk.
My puce face, alas, uncured
Alas, o sorrow, the freckles stand
Alas, no medicine to be procured,
So I snuck back into my own land.
Alas, so sorrowful, the mint overgrown
I stooped to pick some green shoots
And found a couple of silver spoons sown
Next to a pair of lumpy, leather boots.
I hesitantly picked a piece of cutlery,
And a spark went up my skin
The shade vanished from my chivalry,
And I danced a dance to win.
And thus closes the story
Of the stolen lime, forgotten
In my telling of the newt, my enemy
And the mint-flavored, tissue cotton.
___________
Possibly the stupidest poem ever written. Doesn't compare to "Edit" at all.
But I think it's funny.
~Sumi

