This is a poem I wrote about half the woolen ball on my hat.

The read itself should make your cheeks take on a strawberry color!

(Note: It doesn’t.)

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The slime is told to lose some weight,

Reduce its scent for quite a change.

The prose is told to take a stance,

Growing wilder along the range.

The robot leaves back to its origin,

Pinches string until it pricks.

The prick itself is finally chosen...

All three then leave with knots and sticks!

Their rivots cause a big disturbance.

A hoop then jumps in leaps and bounds;

Its hair lets out a pirate’s laugh.

The bear? It’s deaf to all the sounds.

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