Hurly Burly's one sly guy wears
his cap and gown awryÍ
plots his pleasure (he ain't shy!)
like a sixpack samurai.
Our man Hurly's quite a wit
when he dares to err a bit;
once he's packed and stowed his kit,
Burly likes to kick some lit.
Poetry is Hurly's game he
thinks proseartistes are lame;
verse is how he shoots at fame
(when and if he cares to aim).
Burly says that bland's just grand
when he hides his maestro's hand
for the sandbox and the sand.
Nothing bothers our man Burl'
least of all, a bad referral;
neither boor nor cad nor churl
wants to toy with this guy's girl.
Now that Burly's gone to bed -
just like you, retired -
schemes abound in his young head
reamed in black and white. . .and red!