Nobody likes a grinch,

Who make us all flinch,

Among the loaded guns,

With heavily loaded puns,

They are hard to ignore,

And certainly quite a bore,

When ’em cant be stored,

One must find ’em accrued,

And chat up a mighty ton,

For words make up some fun,

As charades, as tunes, as hums

They can turn a tide or tons,

While the oven cooks the buns,

Waiting a while takes a run,

As the petulant bask in the sun,

The sheer joy of nothingness,

Comes from magical lochness,

Mystery, mythical forms undone,

An imagination that comes from,

The brain that manages to sum,

All the equations and the rum,

Keeping in view all the guns,

That come blaring from front,

In a person of perfect Nunchi,

life is peachy easy and beachy,

Sunny smiles amidst browns,

pineapples adorn ’em crowns,

Once the stage is set to rhyme,

The wheels turn away the grime,

From the depths of the niles,

Right to the peaks soaring miles,

The world is certainly an oyster,

For the average broguester,

For there are miles to go ahead,

And there has been enough said,

The learnings that come at a price,

And the adverts that transform ice,

In the eyes framed by rose tints,

Everything has a glamorous glint,

And if one can fine such allure,

To moments of quiet surrender,

The wheels of fortune spin away,

And lady luck prances in a sashay,

In the heart when there is merry,

The hours fly by in a smooth flurry,

The mirth, the joy, the aurorie,

Bring forth a life of such aubree,

And then there is much to adore,

at the hum of thirty-four!