Afternoon Scramble

Timmy had a bad cough
Out came a clot the size a dough
He chewed it on so rough
& tore through his gums so tough

Drenched & deluded in the cove
Flying freedom in the distance of spots of dove
There is no more left to speak of love
Stones of heart unable to move
Of piercing thread & needle wove

In her hands he dies
Of misfortune & dice
Here within he lies
Bites the dust & bitten in lice
Blinded by deception & spies
All the strawberry shortcake, & all the pumpkin pies
Could never resolve back again their ties