Don’t push me — no prodding or pummeling.
Don’t try to persuade with your pleasant propaganda. Don’t pursue ME.
Your point is well-taken. Perhaps one day, it’ll be compelling propelling;
I’ll put the pedal to the metal. But if you pick Pick PICK at me much longer,
I’ll punch you in the eye. Your prompt will become an UN-PROMPT.
Psychological pitter-patter, putter mutter, mumbo jumbo —
I DON’T LIKE BEING PUSHED.
When a Crow speaks, it’s a definite page;
Calling all sensitives – time to engage!
The Crow [plisky] untied his shoelaces.
Is this because he doesn’t know faces?
When a Hawk’s near, the Crows KERFUFFLE!
“Get Away,” they scream feathers a-ruffle.
Long lush green grass, dark feathers akimbo;
Two lustrous Crows dance a jammy limbo.
Big Crow lands on my porch rail, silently
And stares at me — quietly — intently.
When boys collect an assortment of toys You can guarantee there will be some noise. A man or an animal quite enjoys Illusion, subterfuge, they’re backstreet boys — Employs devious poise, fancy convoys Rolling down the street, the road, thus destroys My QUIET with their highfalutin noise! Oh, they’re nothing but inferior alloys. Mischief, as a technique, an imp employs Shattering the illusion of discrete “poise”. I WISH to snare silence [!] the real McCoys!
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