My brother, Michael, three years older and wiser,knows me well enough to see that I have a very quirky side to my personality. There are times when I become philosophical. My friends rely on my good judgment and advice. There are other occasions when I become 'off the wall', meaning, my proclivity for crazy poetry kicks in. It's pretty freaky how easily I can write the stuff.. Totally “swamp” poetry as Michael calls it. My nickname is “Swampette.”
Dear Michael thinks I should wax poetic, let my hair down a bit. If you're ready, here goes,with apologies to bro:
Spike and Mike
There once was a feller named Michael Who hopped on his three-wheeled bicycle He took off like a bat Spun out and went splat On ol' lady Greevy's fat cat.
Spike stretched and reeled Burped loud and clear The poisoned dinner flew out Twenty feet to the rear.
Spike stared up at Michael with a toothless grin Much like Ol' lady Greevy after her gin Eyeing the bike with his head in a spin Spike took off like a bat with Mike's bike in tow Spun out and went splat on ol' lady Greevy's fat toe.
Cat's have nine lives don'tcha know But Spike who was dumb Lost count ages ago And for Spike, at last This was the end of the show.