The Frankenhoff Review

  
Canto the First

And all the rainy-bow-bows were grumbily di day
For the pleasant crescent moon
Up in the starry spin and dry
Whistling is awful lonely, like
Teely meely on a silver spoon

Thinkest not thou knowest of
The long leafy bark poles
With thin fingers tickling the night
All wavy wonderment in a winter whoosh
Then fally over- Oh bless their souls!

Gringle grangle through the crunchy bunch
Old Tithemoneus was tic-talking
Watching our pleasant crescent moon
And whistling like an old squeezy
Needing a bit of greasy before it went squalking

All bones in a bag of sweet meat
He took time by the hands and fell
Down into this leafy larder
There shaking and rattle-snaking
From nature’s scraps he scarped a hell

He stared into the spin and dry
Like looking through a sieve he saw
An evening of acne stars
And spitooned a tune to the moon
That echy-echyoed with awe

There and then grumbily di day
With no tombstone to take his name
Old tithemoneus set his
Sanctimonious love aside
And cursed the day he played the game

In the frailty of existence
What pleasures can a man enjoy?
Nothing but a good seat would do
His legs like mouldy candy canes
Those he remembered as a boy





He smelled the sunsets of his past
That fluffy mash up in the sky
Which brought about a thought he had,
As a vain boy he said “all men
Are immortal until they die”

Time from behind looks so sublime
Bright were the eyes of that night
When our old Tithemoneus
Knew not of the tic-toc turning
Of an earth with a fading light

Night upon night, brambling boys
Turned to men and picking a thorn
Instead of a fruit laid waste to his
Dear wife’s crumble, who died in bed
From belly rumbles and he in turn from scorn

And thus went the withering world
But left old Tithemoneus
No one to hear his knees knocking
When wind came rushing through the wood
He was now nature’s loneliest

In night he spent everyday
As the Wind-Chuck-Makey-Do planned
He bet upon a spinning sun
Which makes a watery wincey one
As you my friends will understand