THE SENTINEL

The sentinel, scented like 1000 turds,
was having a sausage with herbs he had found near the curbs,
by the backdoor he guarded so well.
“Watch out” – did he say
“You shall not get through!”
“But I have to” – said I,
“Can you not see my rye?”
That certainly rang him a bell
The rye was alright as I could read in his eye
So we got by
(I thought) by the least
I’ll knock it off
once and for all
Hit by the fortune
– but temporarily –
I had a glance of the lawn,
still perfectly still
trimmed, yet far too grim
(what-the-fuck)
and shimmed of green
and buster the watchdog
still wouldn’t let me in!

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