Head like a hole and the rabbit comes out of it,
top hat and caned, cartooned pure.
Out of the mirror comes the spoon and bowl,
the cow on a mission to find a cure.
Rocket ships, space crafts, aliens galore,
this hole openly can't contain.
Thoughts are grandeur, a deep depression,
empty headed now with no brain.
-
Author:
Maplespal (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: April 26th, 2026 05:08
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 2
Offline)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.