A Poem

She twiggled down the surpacious limestone path
adding a twaggle to the twiggle while a crowd
of slurafied-eyed popolarians gasped before she’d
turned the corner and bid them all farewell.
She was a beaut!
She wore her foxy fur with a flandorescent
kind of vaveet, spoke in silver sentences
like a perfect sylvanistic glamorista.
With the twiggle in her style and the value
of vaveet, you can see why a preponderance
of popolarians abandoned ways ardvardian
for a sterling opportunity to become
twiggle-twaggled replioniacs.