I am a man who’s mostly fluent
In most things some call “incongruent.”
If you don’t swallow, you shall spewn’t.
Also, I’m not Clyde.
I hope the intro set the scene
For me to tell you what has been;
This time’s the time I met my queen,
My once and future bride.
My eyes fell softly on the wench
Who sat backwards upon a bench,
Talking to a crescent wrench
About which bands were good.
I asked the lady, “How be it
“That you who speak to hardware sit
“With legs ensconced, I do admit,
“Within that bench of wood?”
She did not reply at first,
For my manners were near the worst,
And I, my oversight, then cursed
And then addressed the tool.
Now seeing that I understood,
She said “I’m trapped within the wood
“Because I wondered if I could.”
Now I felt like a fool
And so I left her trapped within
The bench where didst our tale begin,
For sitting backwards is no sin
But merely hard to grasp.
She’s still my queen and future bride,
For I speak truth and have not lied.
When she is free, and bathed beside,
Her body I will clasp.
For who better to share a life,
Who better to be made a wife,
Than one, though trapped, can feel no strife
Though physics she has broken?
And who, from her odd point of view
Can feel a love so strong and true
Than not Clyde, whose hair isn’t blue,
Who made her heart awoken?
This tale has a moral, yes,
So close your eyes and take a guess.
Your eyes are closed… how read you this?
Anyway, I boast
That this here incongruent verse
Tells you, dear reader, of my curse
And that there are things so much worse
Than a lazy, four-line post.
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