I was flung
Into rhymes,
And I lunged
At the seemingly unspeakable sponge,
All grungy and grimed like a door hinge
In line for the scavengers to dine on
Then pick beneath their teeth,
To explunge all the grime and the grunge
From their tongues,
Then suck an orange flavored Lozenge
While squaking: that was hardly a challenge.
(I would like to announce to the world
the Orange
is no longer alone.)
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