Tristan Robert Lange

A Sonnet on Scroogery

There is a toy that I’ve wanted to show,

In a picture that I took on my phone,

Of a green man known for his awful groan;

Though fuzzy, he had a yellow-eyed glow.

Still, this doggie toy brought much joy in tow,

More so than any ordinary bone.

To my fur babies: their green, plush, felt scone;

Yet, corp’rate greed kills the muse’s great throw.

“But how so?”, one might think to softly flinch,

Unaware that I have a poet’s mind;

That, in this photograph, I would unbind

A dark, hum’rous tale, whipped up in a cinch.

But, lo, ne’er to be o’er a stringent kind

Of Scroogery to build wealth off the blind.