Sunday, October 23, 2011

A Stolen Pocket

Born on a trouser made of velvet cloth,
Worn on a precussor made of dulcet loathe.


Petty coins jumped into my lap for refuge,
Nutty comb bumped into my wrap for refuge.


Rinsed with soap for weekly bloom,
Fenced with rope for meekly doom.


I am sported on  my sire and strolled in market,
I am courted on tire and drooled in racket.


Robber in linen peeked my pocket continually,
Pick pocketer in chagrin seeked my pocket perpetually.


Unknown of miser sire, robber's tendered touch vouched me for breath,
Inborn of my wiser dire, pick pocketer's rendered clutch crouched me for wreath.


Folly bent robber ended with a velvet pocket fabric,
Holy dent pick pocketer ended with a brunet pocket's tragic.

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