Quit shaking the scenery, Fuzzy.
Distorted dimensions distress me.
Why is the cow under the moon lowing?
And have the leaves of grass
been mowed and raked?
Eliminate that giant flapping
and pay heed to the rotating crop.
The growth of industry
is laughingly out of proportion.
And shouldn’t the horizon
properly extend to the sky?
Polish the sun a little brighter.
Hide the blasted wiring.
Drop a wild dog or two
into the wasteland.
And do not go gentle past go.
Perhaps this prescription is outdated.
The road least taken
appears to be closed.