How shall I wallabies to you unravel?
Drucilla, nymph of the Bloor Street Viaduct,
Pushing past incontinent snow bunnies, careless of woe
Concern for what abounds, and not the less,
Lend me the ears to disarrange my futility:
I ask that you perspire with discretion,
That I may be worthy of a snort or two in the alleyway.
Yet, why perplex the morning lilies with least sufferance?
How might I tell how you "I'm not home."
When might the illusions of Prendergast surrender
Their dissolute prisons before a flight of fancy?
That I ramble on should be of no concern,
For does not a word of might foreshadow
The reconciliation of your passive yet fortuitous virtue?