A back–taken aback;
The hand, in perfect time,
Takes its fingers up the spine.
The sluggard’s lazy want for food
Has the vertebrae protrude
Stones–on which to step,
Till icy fingers reach the neck.
The hand–a hand given
Slides its fingers into hair
And curls them tight about what’s there.
The procrastinator’s aversion to work,
Brought to focus as head is jerked—
A body in fearful shake,
Told life’s ambition WILL be slaked.
A neck—annexed to head.
The hand, now out of time,
Imposes sentence on the crime.
A once indolent workshy sloth,
Throttled by a grip of wroth;
Work—it WILL be done…
Before the other kingdom comes
Wow.
That. Is. Amazing.
The can of Fosters was certainly a deserved one.
Well done that man. *smiles*
– esme in awe upon the Cloud
Cheers ears. Appreciate the appreciation, I’ll take it; bled tears and sweated blood creating the place. On a much more important note though: The fact the can is tipped over is irking me now. I want to time travel to then to stand it up!
OCD level – 8 out of 10.
Hahahahaha.
– esme of Cloud fame.
Just as well you showed the pictures of the shed there; it was sounding quite rude don’t you know?
Well I’ll be an anchored float. It’s a man called Hariod. How do you do…? And, aye, innuendo intendo. But seriously, entity in shed you see, well it came to visit me, clip me round the ear to very necessarily coerce me; rather than pinch my rear and titillate me.