Look at your witty pumpkin head
Hiding the most truthful salty drop
Beneath the one lash which
Splutters every micro-second.
Come down quarter a feet
There you got the shameless pot hole
Painting false happiness
All over the face,
Hiding two grins behind the front teeth
Three sobs under the tongue-divided,
And one so deep, well secured
In that throat that hurts for twenty years.
Half a feet up,
Now there again the greatest pumpkin
Filled with wits,
The stupidest wits.
