I wrote this in response to a challenge from my friend to use the imaginary word "flooby," so here goes...
LaRousse
took a guess, that he was floobier than fly,
but the
crowd met his bet with derision; they cry,
“LaRousse!
Don’t do it, you’re throwing away
your money,
our goodwill, hear what we say—
you’re fly
more than flooby, trust our advice,
instead of
taking this guess and a roll at the dice!”
Yet
LaRousse said, “I’m flooby,” with a chin set so firm
that his
mother winced and his father sat stern,
as he
stepped up to the table, took a swig from his flask,
and threw
down a card without stopping to ask.
“What says
it?” screamed the people, all bending to look,
and a
glance at the “f-l-o” was all that it took,
They
cheered him, he beckoned for drinks to be brought,
“On the
house!” said a barmaid, hefting a draught,
and the
naysayers said they’d been jesting, for sure,
they knew
he was flooby, just been trying to lure
him away
from the bet that was right.
And
LaRousse hides the floobies he’s carried all night.
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