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Nicking Nellies knickers

Somebody’s stolen her knickers
They were left out to dry in the sun
Why were they so cruel and heartless
Was it done out of spite or for fun
Pink panties, purloined by a weirdo
Did they do it for some sort of dare
Surely they knew, like most of us do
That these were her solitary pair
We watched as she sat down and blubbered
We felt for this big bonnie lass
And then all as one “what is to be done
To cover her huge naked ass”
So we all put in money to buy some
A pair that were pretty, yet strong
But with knickers that size, you will not be surprised
That all we could get was a thong
When the undies were duly presented
She accepted, with style and with grace
And the smile of her arse was only surpassed
By the smile we could see on her face

Editing stage: 


This is bloody poetry. Williard R. Espy would have laughed out loud as I did. This one is saved to my archives. I must share this marvelous smile. wesley

W. H. Snow

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

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Thanks Wes, I'm glad you enjoyed this little bit of nonsense


author comment

Lonnie you're a diamond, though I think I'm seen as the twaddle meister by a lot of people, but hey, I'll carry on doing what I do because I enjoy it



author comment

Cheers m'dear,

Some people like raising barley
Some people like raising Cain
Me, I just like raisin' smiles
Again and again and again


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