
Mr Price was
tired of Priscilla’s pacing, so showed her the door.
(65 chrx)
There’s the
track, go and pace that!
(36 chrx)
Trip trap
trot
Bill Gruff
you’re not!
Wool-flesh
car?
No – sheep you
are!
There’s no
peace
As you shake fleece;
Go there –
pace,
Get sun on
face!
(138 chrx)
I hope your Sunday pace is slow.
ReplyDeleteThis is a GOOD one.... not at all BAAAAAAAAA d. hehehehe
ReplyDeleteGood ones! The first made me laugh out loud. Poor Pricilla.
ReplyDeleteGreat job!! I especially like your poem!!
ReplyDelete