Tantaloup

A Tantaloup went skooning by
one fol and finxal day.
Its wibble troot was all a-snoot
as it gimpled me away.

“What sooth?” said I, quite queasly,
while shangling down its mane,
but when the mauxite tindled,
it peavesly shimmed again.

O wimsful night so kloozy,
with all the polps a-twink.
The Tantaloup now chintzled up
and snued me with a wink.

It swelt so grood beside me,
I furbled with it there,
we smailed away the hours,
I tweened its loxum hair.

“O bloomsy Tantaloup”, I said,
all quevelling and queet,
“Please stay, I’ll gloon without you”,
but it just pobbled down the street.

So if you see a Tantaloup
a-skooning by the sea,
please take a photo of it
and post it off to me.