Series of Poems #5

Still the chase is on.
Nobody knows for how long.
Is the dragon wrong?



Chop, chop, clop
Thank God I don't dress like a fop
Southerners don't know labor
Unlike me and my forest neighbors
Kkk, flick, puhuuu, there goes another tree
My hands work as quickly as a bee
I will soon repair our Illinois home, yes sireee!
Wrestling with the Clary's Grove boys really pays of its fees



That robot ransacked my rad new loot.
I am really red now with rage against the ruffian now in pursuit.
Maybe I can't race to reach the robot en route.
I will make my red horn resound, DEEDOOO!
Now my brethren know right where to go.
They will run right here and ask me who is our new rabid foe.



This putrid egg that the brute hoarded,
The dragon wants it to be warded.
For what reason is the world now sordid?
Will the owner of this egg be awarded?
With some power that make others cower who do not hold it?
I must join in this race
Larger than the expanse of space
In order to win first place.



Khrushchev's minion is speedy lightning fast.
The strength inside my wings must be amassed.
If I want this precious world to last.
I think he may be slowed if my roar blasts.
RHEEEEAAARR! The blast makes the earth shake; thus, Bert brakes.



Blood might soon
Be Spilled
Here...

But,
Robots
don't have blood.