Friday, May 26, 2006


The tiger cannot change her stripes
With fur of orange and black and white.
Furiously he sits and types
A nasterpiece with lots of bite.
The tiger roams the jungle ground
With deep green eyes that search for prey.
Creepily he looks around
For someone new with whom to play.
You don't have time to scream or shout.
The outcome leaves no room for doubt.
She rips you up and spits you out.
You're splattered with an inky blot.
Your reputation's fully shot.
You think he's sorry? No. He's not.

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