©1995 by Susan Noyes Anderson, Lollipops

Sometimes when no one else can play

I make up silly rhymes to say,

like pink ink stinks and bugs hug rugs

and thugs lug buggy rugs away.

If flies buy pies and guys fly by,

what kind of world does that imply?

Would nine swine dine on porcupine

to stick a needle in their sty?

If bees’ knees freeze, then what of fleas?

Do fleas’ knees freeze as much as bees’?

How high the sky? Can dry eyes cry?

My head is buzzing. Tell me, please.

Once I begin, I must admit

it takes a bit of grit to quit.

That’s why I play rhymetime until

my mother has a fit. That’s it.