My Lord, I loves
“wasting time” with you;
part of me shoves
‘portant things to do
off to anoth-er time,
it’s true.
But I can’t cov-er
this up. I’m blue.
My “blue” is here, as
a spe-cial sign,
that I do fear that you are not mine,
and I’m not yours,
but a bastard child,
not loved, because
your love's not that wild.
What god has done
such a thing as this?
To have a son, and
record it bliss
to bind oneself, and
then keep one’s word;
to bring good health
to such small absurd..
..and selfish pricks,
like ugly bird chicks.
They say “stuff
sticks”, we sure need your licks
to clean us off, both
the food and poo -
what’s come from me,
and what’s come from you!
Dribble, and spew,
then there’s wee and poo
all comes from
me. Now what comes from you?
Hugs, food and drink,
and the cleaning up!
Smiles make us think
that your love’s enough.
Your songs and
sounds, articulation;
just being ‘round;
some times dictation;
and snuggling up.
Then your washing time,
and time to sup,
makes life near sublime.
But most of all is your creative
woo and call, that’s
more than sate-ive,
colour and smell, and
the lilt of tune.
You do things well!
Y’ARE our WAY, and BOON!
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