The ochre rust that beats us to the arrival of a bell--for no new bell is worth ringing
--frosts the wall, and corrodes the flanging curve.
Sumerians--or some other intelligent society must have seen,
The shape needs to hurry and precede the sound,
And so, swiftly, was it conceived to plunge from the hoist, at a swerve,
Then scatter by the skirting ground.
Who could foster a better or more cracked idea than a bell:
I have a certain kind of abuse I like to touch,
And when I'm lost my ears
Near the unoccupied bourse, the broke foretell,
Which might just as easily be the bell of the bell.
Name That Creepy Cartoon! -
6 days ago