The town of Bakewell is under siege, gingerbread men are running free.
The bakers scream. Oh please, oh please save us our brave king, but the brave king is at a loss, for no one in the court has a thought.
When in the back of the court a small voice did say, I will save the town my way.
My boy, my boy what will you do. I will eat my way through, I love gingerbread and so do you.
The gingerbread men screamed and yelled, oh please, oh please don't eat us our brave king.
But it was too late, the  boy and king had gobbled their fill! Oh my brave boy you have saved Bakewell!

three knocks at three O'clock
three bears out of shop
an Aesop goldilocks
(small frock and yellow socks)
ad hoc broken locks

Three cold porridge bowls
one poor girl with the hair of gold
should have done what she'd been told
to find in that horrid household
three bears dead and cold

Synny had a little shell
Who's soul was white as snow
Who learned too soon that life was hell
And she was sure to go

And in that soul, corruption sparked
She fought it all the while
Until the day it consumed her
And killed the wholesome child

And all the stayed
Was charmed remains
Of pretty little Syn
And when the demons spoke to her,
She always let them in.

Little Miss Muffet
Got ******* on her tuffet
‘Cause she don’t know what curds weigh.
A scholarly spider
Sat down beside her
Said, “Tuffet baby, it ain’t spelled that way.”

But, confused, he asked
“How did it come to pass
That you got laid and I have not done yet?
With eight legs to grab
I should be able to nab
Likely many more than than you can get.”

Muffet said, with a shrug
“You pitiful old bug,
Your brain must be little more than silage.
For everyone knows
How the old saying goes
It’s not the age of the tire but the mileage.”

The spider understood
What anyone would
That Miss Muffet knew what she was doing.
He went on his way
With no more to say,
And Muffet went right back to her *******.

The slamwhackit bird
Just sitting in a tree
Laughing and calling me
Maliciously.
Threating with flying hordes
Of ziddlyboomers eagerly
He sits in that tree
Just constantly.

The tarfaplagedts fly
When slamwhackits cry
They fear the baffysmafflers
Scrafflenee.
The only hope that’s
Left to me, the tree the
Slamwhackit is sitting in
So smuggilly.

No good to run around
And try to avoid the glaffs.
They fly and I don’t
They always find me.
And they are loud birds
Jalking and blorgging
Almost happily.

So, now I resign myself
To coats of slamwhackit zleeb
Raining from the noobit tree
All over me.
It is my shame to say
This is my worst day today.
Slamwhackit birds proliferate
Everywhere for eternity.

Twinkle, star, you are
So high, up in the sky.
And Little Muffett Miss
Has gotten so ******;
Very upset that from
Someone else’s thumb
That was stuck in a pie.
She didn’t know why.

So she cut off tails
Enjoying the wails
Of sightless mice
Though not nice
Not fooling around
She’d blow the house down
Then give a harsh drub
To three men in a tub.

She swiped all the ciggies
Of three little piggies
But she could not see
Why everything was threes.
Narcissistically proud
She was laughing out loud
Then she started to croon
About a cow on the moon.

She looked for a fiddle
She could hey ****** ******
But when she got there
The cupboard was bare
So, she left the dog home
And began to roam.

On the way past Saint Ives
A man beating his wives
Muffet did begin
Beating with rolling pin
And the guy ran away
Not seen since that day.
Miss Muffett turned old
Folk tales into gold.

To who, to whom, to you, that's 'whom'. When Whom is ******* and ******* is you. How do you unscrew the ***** when you are ******* by whom. You unscrew yourself.

the room is a nursery
following the breakdowns
of all its residents at three
in the morning, it
whispers soft things
and peaceful melodies
and rocks them to sleep
when no one else will