Taking a Welsh, salt-saponified air,
Puck did not after all stick, though
cement Benedict pumped his face.
Getting along in the peaty wisp,
things were, Puck’s smushed
eyehole all id with sturgeon pride.
Autoimmunity had from the rabbit
clans the jackal’s portion.
Puck, how do you think
the author of shoveling
was buried? The spryest
of these conspicuous, turned-
as-one-act charities is the tilted
ewer. We’re having hem-haw
a putsch. With gnashing regret
I am here to inform you that I
totally forgot the important part
and whoops, you’re arrested.