Poet Smurf ventured hither and yon
checking which dress Nature had on.
Lovely she seemed in a bright Summer gown,
but twitching his nose, that poet did frown.
Whence came that rotten apple smell
but from the evil Gargamel.
As smurf he did not qualify,
being larger than three apples high.
Poet knew well he could not trust
the evil wizard whose foul deeds must
be perpetrating on all smurf-kind.
It seemed for bad he was designed.
Aided by 'godfather' Balthazar,
Gargamel plotted, most bizarre,
planning to bird-nap Feathers the Stork,
to torture him and make him talk.
When Feathers delivered Baby Smurf,
Poet was on the internet, trying to surf.
He'd missed the fact of a blue, blue moon,
which meant the delivery was too soon.
Gargamel claimed that delivery
was misdirected, intended for he.
Can someone rescue that poor stork,
the means so unpleasant for making storks talk.
Papa Smurf made the scene and just in time
to help the poet complete his rhyme.
He punished the wizard and Bathazar too
as senior Smurfs know what to do.
Now if you laugh 'til you're blue in the face
and your sense of humour is out of place,
you're no more than three apples high,
you may be a Smurf, the same as I.
© 2018 cherryk
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