The moon shone bright and gave no light,
To snow-capped, grass-green flower beds,
As a car, with lightning haste,
Slowly round a corner sped.
Seated stood a crowd of folk,
Loudly shouting silently,
While a lately roasted hare,
On the sandbanks learned to ski.
One small boy with bright blonde locks,
Whose dark brown curls concealed his head,
Sat upon an emerald box,
That someone had just painted red.
Next to him sat some old hag,
Who was barely twenty-three.
In her hand some buttered toast,
Spread with lard exclusively.
cool but does it has sense?
That's the whole point.