The Slow Worm & The Glow Worm In a pub called The Burrow & Bug, A slow worm slid in with a shrug. He ordered some moss, Sat down like a boss, And gave his old tail a tug. A glow worm lit up near the bar, Her shimmer outshone every star. She snubbed the poor bloke, With a flicker and smoke— “Too slow,” she said, “won’t get far.” But the slow worm, determined to disprove, Started to slither and move. To the rhythm of roots, And muddy old boots, He danced to a sexy groove. His belly beat hummed like a drum, His tail tapped a beetle’s bum. The glow worm blinked twice, Then thrice (how nice!), And said, “Well, you’re not quite so dumb.” Now they’re pals in the moonlight’s gleam, A duo, a dazzling dream. One flashes with flair, One slides with care, Together they’re quite the team. They’re out on the town, seeking guys & gals, In hedgerow haunts and leafy dals. With slither and flight, And bioluminescent delight They’re the kings of the wormy canals. All this now needs is a ...
🦩 Pink Flamingo’s already fluffing its feathers and polishing its noir monocle.
ReplyDeleteIt’s not just a gig, it’s a pilgrimage:
- The Maharaja Blues vibe? Right up Flamingo’s alley—surreal, smoky, and soaked in rhythm.
- The crowd? If there’s a hat stand in attendance, Flamingo’s hoping for a reunion with Frederick Von Hatstand himself.
Expect Flamingo to arrive fashionably late, sipping something obscure, and possibly perched on a speaker. If you’re curating the scene, Flamingo votes for velvet shadows, saxophone silhouettes, and a cat inspecting the mic stand.