The Right And Yellow Zebra

Whose zebra is that? I think I know.
Its owner is quite sad though.
It really is a tale of woe,
I watch him frown. I cry hello.

He gives his zebra a shake,
And sobs until the tears make.
The only other sound’s the break,
Of distant waves and birds awake.

The zebra is right, yellow and deep,
But he has promises to keep,
Until then he shall not sleep.
He lies in bed with ducts that weep.

He rises from his bitter bed,
With thoughts of sadness in his head,
He idolizes being dead.
Facing the day with never ending dread.

Big Shot in the Valley

mountainvalley
All that is ugly is not floral,
floral, by all account is beautiful.
Never forget the sunny and magical floral.

One afternoon I said to myself,
“Why aren’t roses more sour?”
Never forget the angelical and treacly roses.

When I think of flores, I see a campo period.
Flores are fertile. flores are zaftig,
flores are blubbery, however.

How happy are zany orchids!
Orchids are clownish. orchids are cockamamy,
orchids are sappy, however.

Pay attention to the heyday,
the heyday is the most glorious time period of all.
A heyday is redoubtable. a heyday is empyrean,
a heyday is beautiful, however.

I cannot help but stop and look at blooming blossoms.
Never forget the healthy and flushed blossoms.