Ode to Layli

We have a mystery writer on Forage today .. Guess his or her identity..

I sit here waiting as you dance,
Wondering what I’m doing in France.
I texted Florence, no reply yet –
Perhaps she’s playing hard to get.

I don’t know how your camera works.
In that respect, me, it merks.
“Rinsed” and “seen” you prefer to use,
If only we had Urban Dictionary in Toulouse.

The French language, it brings me pain
Like your studded nose – how insane?!
On Forage I hope this doesn’t go
Or the world will know of your honteux.

Dr Lopez, Pancake boy, the list goes on
Your liaisons, they’re far from bon.
So shamefully dressed, you had to return
To pyjama lady – when will you learn?

“Cochonneries“: the word has served me well
But “je suis confondu” is all I ever tell
La langue francaise, c’est merveuilleuse
But spoken vite, it’s affreuse.

Now it’s time for Taylor Swift,
This poem has suffered drift.
The points it made are very scattered
But killed some time – that’s all that mattered.

Bare Jokes Day

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