Poetry Month Day 3. For Erin, A Poem about lost socks and unicorns.


Dust it off and climb inside, we’re going on a fantasy ride,
Through the drum, hear the thrum,
Past the lint screen, there standing on the green,
Can you see it? The bee in mannschaft football kit,
Or just near, in the clear, a purple zebra wearing headgear,
Soft step dance, listening to eurotrance,
Chilling with Lance the unicorn, sporting Mohawks freshly shorn,
And he with a single scarlet sock rolled over his horn,
Snuggled in tight, keeping him warm.

Few know about unicorn vulnerabilities and ungulate sensitivities,
From Dr.Ewe we can learn a thing or two, about their penchant
for David Tennant, and their aptitude as Superintendents,
And their love of cupcakes, and well-planned jailbreaks,
And their fear of the dark parks and Eurasian skylarks,
And their need to occasionally borrow, a sock you would
Inevitably forego, to protect their magical marrow,
And give life to tales told over marshmallows.

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