27 June 2012
There is an ancient house At the bottom of my street Therein lives an old man With very smelly feet!
The tale of how they're smelly I will tell another time I only told you that small gossip So the first stanza would rhyme!
Now one day I knocked on the door Of Mr. Pickles as he's known To ask if he needed shopping done Else my mother would soon moan!
The door soon opened, there he stood In a mouldy dressing gown I explained my presence And his face changed to a frown
To my surprise, out popped his eye Which he sucked into his mouth "Come in my boy, are you thirsty?" As he leered inside his house
Without a word, I turned and ran I've never moved so fast Away from Mr Pickles and His eyeball made of glass!
All rights reserved. Nom 27th June 2012
The Glass Eye • Opuss № I