(Poetry can be the perfect playground for fun with language. So, here.)
Are my Gridleys ready to fire,
To dance the carronade,
And burst in staid desire,
So strict as it was made?
Can I make sense of fifty cents,
And why must poems have meaning?
Finding facts are for the dense,
So limited, such gleaning.
oops! I forgot to add: This poem was published in the March 2015 (Vol. 1 No. 10) of Verse-Virtual.