Okay, I started posting, I'd better find a poem subject, huh?

__Little People__

Wee men, and Weemen
Jumping all around.
Only 3 feet,
off of the ground.
I don't know why,
they grow so small.
I don't know why
they're only 3 feet tall.
But any way you slice it,
I just wanna price it,
So I can make a profit
off of midget deformities.
I could charge 5 gold
for the young and the old
to stare at my wee people,
and make them eat a wheeple. (what the hell is a wheeple?)
I'd make a great big tent,
and never pay my rent.
Because my aggrivated dwarves
would start urban wars.
They'd get all crazy-like,
with the bat, and the knife,
and beat and stab and bat and knife
until my landlord was out of life.
I'd say 'cheerio wee folk!'
and they'd say 'Where's my cut? Is this a joke?'
And I'd promptly get killed
by disgruntled midgets.
woe, woe, woe...fate...how thy mocketh me!

<ponder> right. I don't know where that came from. And if there's any midgets out there, I'm sorry. I'm not saying anything about your heritage and culture, I'm just, you know, writing a poem. The poem took over, I had nothing to do with it.
Love, snuggles, and midget riots...
Kona Diamante

Penned by my hand on the 5th of Chronos, in the year 246 AF.