Frog Eyed Dog Drool
Humous hath nary
The rage of an old english mans dragon breath.
Nor can it contend with the
Garlic wench’s malodorous halitosis.
And a seemingly dreary summer cloud does drip
Autumn purple from the sky.
Blurring, banishing, surging, canopies of rain forests—
I envision them in winter, for some reason,
And an arctic tropical coconut drops in the hard crust of aged old snow,
Pushing a puff in all directions like it landed in powdered sugar,