(because the world doesn’t have enough nonsense sonnets…)

 

Fatherly advice

Fear not, dear boy, the vicious wombacat,

the drop bear nor the turgid cockenbull;

fear not, for you’ll disturb those horrors that

awaken to the acrid odour, dull

but sharp, of childish terror. Do not fear

the codger nor the turgid numbacrunch

the deadserts lying in their boggy drear

nor, close by them, the fickle justahunch.

The bloated blotto sloping down your street

can sniff the frightened out from half a mile,

avoid its wrath and likewise keep discreet

where betterarfs lurk armed with powd’ry guile

Your choice then; face the holshebbang front on or

fear fear, you’ll still be soon enough a gonner.

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