Prone to Faffle

Prone to Faffle

A lisp or a stutter, stuck above;
Worn out welcomes sneak below.
Pencils pasted, scorned by love,
Stammer blindly stuck in a tango.
Prone to faffle, push not shove;
Coming first, admirations glow.
Spitfire pistols a sporting dove,
All around where gristles grow.
Speaking smoothly, mouth in a glove,
Caressing Julie, in tenderness flow.

Posted In: Poems

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