Poetry corner

The Floral Hat by Margetea Flappys

It's nice isn't it?

Hattage.

To wither your hat so floral be,

That hat betched on fine memories,

Snunched from ericaceous bottled grasp,

Drunk from a hidden hip flask

 

Asked gurunder hats contentious tilt,

Fleeced of all its Mother’s Milk,

I mithered around a musky thunk,

And bothered memoires hastily shrunk

 

Madeleicly shong the beasts away,

Himpingly greened and kept at bay,

Bamping and fluntingly you beefed a chat,

Due to the gant of your floral hat

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