©1995 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.