Peter picked a peck of pickled peppers.
It seemed to him the decent thing to do,
Then sweated sweetly with some swarthy schleppers
To schlep the peppers way back home to you.
But you, alas, had since left for the seashore
To sell your silly seashells I don’t doubt.
So I went to the park to soothe our offspring.
Didn’t give tidy teeter-totter daughters time to pout.
But somewhere in my heart I felt a tugging…
The tongue-tied tugging you and Jack know well.
I hope it goes away as I fetch water.
But oops! I tripped or slipped. Jill? What the hell?
The Daily Travesty 