For Allan Whose Poems Would Buy.............

Some little poems do have legs just long enough to buy some eggs. Though for a dozen not enough So, Allan, do you give a stuff? You know you'd shrivel like a flower and sting like a box jellyfish if God would suddenly turn sour and took away your favourite dish. I saw your finger's long extension which I will, quite regardless, mention you wear on each of your ten digits small pencils shaped like happy midgets. So, bleat no more about your hobby I mean to meet you in the lobby right after they bestow the prize I'll say some words, both cool and wise. Your life is poetry, not eggs you must be there each time one begs to be let out of your big head. Without your poems you'd be dead.