No, you’re the pinniped.
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No you’re the brass bed!
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I sat down here to write a little poem.
I reckoned it would only take a minute.
I’d jot it down at coffee and be done
As soon as I had two words to begin it.
With umpteen rhymes for puppet right at hand
(though some, it must be said, a bit farfetched)
I confidently scribbled what I’d planned.
Well really, would I care if haters kvetched?
But wait, I meant to dedicate my work!
And now I’m in the homestretch, rounding third.
Facepalm, what’s wrong with me? I’m such a jerk.
I clean forgot, it’s for you, every word.
But never mind, do we need icing on it?
No, you my love, my sweet, you are the sonnet.
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No, you’re the bonnet!
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No YOU’RE the pup bib
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No, you’re the hobbit!
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No you’re the Pippin!
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NO YOU’RE the Stuffit
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.
No, YOU’RE the curb bit!
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And since it is lunchtime…
You’re the Gyro Spit
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No YOU’RE the Negan!
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#No! You’re the TOILET!!!*
``
*Seriously though; no one else thought to post that one until now?
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No, you’re the INTERNET!
All titties and kitties, or so I’ve been told.
Edit…If bras were made of kitties I would not mind so much when I have to wear one.
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That’s a terrifying image. It literally made me anxious.
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