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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Fantasy · #2199624
In an oppressive land, birthday celebrations have gone underground.
Nofunlandia’s ruler hates presents and cakes;
when it comes to all birthdays he puts on the brakes.
He forbids celebrations—his rule is austere
in a land of authority coupled with fear.

Yet the Partyfolk find a unique workaround;
they hold birthday shindigs, but they’re held underground.
Birthday joy is the goal for the citizenry
in this land of a fist with a shortage of free.

Surreptitiously, Partyfolk decorate halls
in the guise of repairing asbestos lined walls.
They erect work zone permits and hang warning signs
saying trespassers will be subjected to fines.

Now the ruler, King Trumpet, got wind of the guise
but just tweeted away thinking his words were wise.
All the while the Partyfolk plan birthday joy
for each man and each woman, grandma, girl and boy.

There’s an Underground Birthday Railway in the night;
and the Partyfolk providers think that it’s right
to defy every State-sanctioned ban so imposed,
and push forth on the rails while a-thumbing their nose.

Nofunlandia puts out a warning again;
If you celebrate birthdays you will feel the pain!
(It was read by King Trumpet in full blown disgrace,
  and in doing so he turned bright orange in the face.)

Ida Freeman, the head of the Partyfolk group
heard the warning one day and was throne for a loop.
When she threw up her arms in a sign of disgust,
it was like she was thinking of, Who Do You Trust?

(Ida Freeman was quoted one time in the press
  of the state of affairs and how they cause duress.
  I approach these strict sanctions with critical doubt;
  Nofunlandia gives me good reason to pout.

Partyfolk uses codes on their cool Twitter scoops
to stay one step ahead of the government snoops.
For they’d rather bring joy to a citizen’s birth
than relent to strong arms for all riches on Earth.

So the Partyfolk celebrate birthdays to keep;
Nofunlandia is a domain that’s asleep.
Partyfolk remain rebels, both happy and spry,
and below the State radar they’re happy to fly.

40 Lines
(Anapestic Tetrameter)
Writer’s Cramp
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