...
Playing with language is fun
Even more so the art of the pun
Because before this poem is done
I'm sure you'll agree that I've won
Not that I am the master
Or a dissaster, teasing those who are after
The calm before the storm
A balm of words, worn their way into the mind
A kind of con-fusion
A trap
A miss takes every thing away
Or a play of letters
Chainmail protection
Against the barrage
Of a bunny massage
Flung by a pleasant peasant observing the fray
Not that the poet's tree is ever in bloom
His warts more beautiful than a rose
Sentenced pre scribe
A delirious bribe
The green muse
A ruse
As this diss' traction grows
And you read it again, sharing woes
Or maybe wows
Bows.