Statutory warning: Drinking they say is injurious to "Your" health (not mine) People in their right senses not to read this poem.
Hic-a-one, hic-a-two, hic-a-three,
No, hic-a-four, I plea,
Stop, stop, stop, I feel so light,
A belly in my fire, and I dance with delight.
Tap-a-tap-a-tap, I laugh with glee,
Bu-aha-aha-ha-ha-oha-ha, wild and free.
There's a belly in my fire still,
Dancing to its own whimsical will.
I plead to the girl in polka dots ,
To help me arrange these words in rhyme.
She smiles, her dress swirls,
and she says with a grin,
"I'm tipsy, and your words are spinning within."
And then I see, my belly's in the fire,
But where does it fit?
I'm lost in desire.
Ah-whistles-whistles-whistles-ah,
I hear a bear,
In the beer,
it says, "Hic-a-hic, without a care."
A chic chick joins,
and we're a merry pair,
Hic-a-hic, hic, hic, hic,
without a single snare.
Oops, I'll come back tomorrow,
to craft my lines,
For now,
I'm just hic-a-hic, in rhyme's sweet shrines.
Copyright @ Ajay Pai 4th April 2017
Image courtesy - AJ's personal collection
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