I Quavered . . .

I remember that sacred dawn,
When I used to be a trimmer,
In the garden known for it’s primmer;

In the pond I just caught a glimpse of glimmer,
But in between, the flash was dimmer,
Cos there sailed a light blue skimmer;

When I went near it just moved in grimmer,
And I felt my blood in simmer,
It creaked " who are you oh Zimmer?"
And it went gagging and smiling when I Quavered,
“Oh! You swimmer, I am the HUMMER OF THE POET CALLED SHIMMER”



Quavering Poet.
7th Jan ’08.