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In by Wyatt on January 28, 2009 at 12:14 am

A sausage on a string

Is a fine food just to bring,

Though it will not do a thing

To fix one’s hunger.


For it’s a little bit too short,

With too much difficulty fraught;

No, perhaps it’s not the sort

To fix one’s hunger.


Rather, some rainbow with a cloud

Dipped in honey, screamed aloud

Will likely be so proud

To fix one’s hunger!


Bursting hue and saturate tone

—Shared together/scoffed alone—

Could be licked to the bone,

To fix one’s hunger.


But aft the final munch

Bloated brunch, toasted crunch,

There comes twisted hunch

That I want hunger.


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