to okra or not to okra
(whether it be nobler to have okra'd or by mistress chance to dice and die otherwise)
Penelope Paradigm believed in rhyme first she heard it.
Begged to sit beside okra in crime, she rejected that slime second she stirred it. Even their floor curdled quickly to thirds under waves of stoned birds from the fourth dimension of cadenced thyme in Raisin Betcha.
"No fair!" screamed the parsley.
"Max to the unjust," their grapevines whined.
"A durn slur," hasta asparagus concurred.
"No cents," Andromeda strained to claim from the fifth ark.
"Duh," trained umbrage barked into the sixth node.
"Hark!" the seventh angel cried as he spied the greens frying.
Flying tureens tried the crumby bread. And fled to Dover.
"We ate it all," Doody harrumphed in gaseous turds.
"The words got us," they surged into the ninth splurge of hail spores.
On the tenth day they rested to feast on the dirth and dirge of okra and to relate the fate of a penny.
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