She was a poet hunter, Hunting in Poem Hunter.
Pretending best and better,
Woman of word and letter.
Pretending a poetess,
But writing very less.
She welcome me at first,
Enveloped me in thirst.
Through thick and thin forest,
She wanted me to test.
She then became a hen, Dragging me to den.
And then became a bitch,
As I wanted to ditch.
In very hustle-bustle,
In this increasing tousle.
I fell into a well,
And burst into a yell.
But when I opened eyes,
You can’t imagine guys!
My resonating calls,
You can’t imagine gals!
I actually stripped,
Stranded and slipped.
What a splendid scene!
In mosquito screne.
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