The clouds are timber-wolf,
and I think that a plane is about to crash into Katie's nose.
The grey goose howls,
the crayfish wanders alone,
and Jessie is glum.
Why must the school be made of spaghetti,
I think that the meatballs are spoiled,
I do not think that they are necessary.
The keyboard on the computer is melting,
it hurts my hands because it is scalding,
Ouch, I think as I run into the photo.
The camera snaps with a sneeze,
The twinkle looms out from the equestrian,
Why must the horse kick the udder.
Rudolph is sick in his bed,
His nose is green instead of red,
Plums are tasty.
Now we must go to the bazaar,
And wonder why.
Fin.
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