116
(Happy birthday, William Shakespeare!)
Let me not to the mirage of druid mimes
Submit a replicant. Blood spits hot blood,
Lives calmer when it’s alternating wines
Or sends the behoover to be nude.
Go slow! We lit an over-wicked spark
That licks a teapot and devours bacon.
Wit knits a scarf for every pandering shark,
Whose mirth’s uncloned until its bite be wakened.
Mug hot mime’s mule, so foamy nicks and leaks
Rescind his blended crystal’s complex sum.
Fun hobbles thought with its bleak hounds and freaks,
but wears it out, leading to a hedge of broom.
If Thisbe’s terror land upon the moon,
I’ll never sprint where normals overrun.
— Basil Cartryte
2025-04-23
(NaPoWriMo 2025 Day 23)