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Rated: E · Poetry · Comedy · #2267464
A poem inspired by the writing style of Bill Watterson of Calvin and Hobbs fame

The Sound of Ice

By: S. Dunsil

What is the sound of Ice?
And does anybody care?
What difference it does make with your backside in midair?

As toward the ground said backside soars,
Whilst inside them you clench your drawers,
as icy death from under nears
you'll soon see stars and maybe tears
Your grace is done,
'tis all washed up,
when on the pavement you do THUMP!

you cuss,
you fuss,
you weep and moan,
the only thing that's left alone
is that infernal Funny Bone
which mocks you with " teehee"

Thus firmly planted on my can,
I try to stand up like a man
and under breath so steamy white
I utter curses left and right.
Up to the sky all chilled and storming
goes forth my cry, "where's Global warming ?!"

Thence to my den I slowly limp
my backside swollen like a blimp.
So ends this tale of slip and woe
for to the tub I now shall go

I soak my aches and pains away
and dream and dwell upon the day
when Spring time comes to grace this frozen land.

A wondrous thing this spring is too
but for now, I'll lay here
black and blue.

the end

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