Unbiased Reporting

What I post on this Blog does not mean I agree with the articles or disagree. I call it Unbiased Reporting!

Isabella Brooke Knightly and Austin Gamez-Knightly

Isabella Brooke Knightly and Austin Gamez-Knightly
In Memory of my Loving Husband, William F. Knightly Jr. Murdered by ILLEGAL Palliative Care at a Nashua, NH Hospital

Thursday, December 25, 2014

Twas the night before Adoption

Twas the night before Adoption
By Clipper Ordiway

Twas the night before Adoption, when all through the states

Not a parent was stirring, not even their mates.

The dockets were hung by the courtrooms with care,

In hopes that profits soon would be there.

The children were hiding all under their beds,

While visions of fear danced in their heads.

And mamma with her ‘kerchief, and my empty lap,

Had just rattled our brains for a miracles hap.

When out of the dawn there arose such a matter,

We sprang from the dead to see this mad hatter.

Away to the courtrooms we flew like a flash,

Tore open threat letters and threw up some cash.

The badge on the breasts of the crew-takin shots

Gave the illusion of importance to children and tots.

When, what through their outlandish lies should appear,

But another court day, and more children in fear.

With a plump little driver, so wicked and slick,

I knew child services were up to old tricks.

More rabid than beagles her minions they came,

And she blathered, and boasted, and called them by name!

"Now Justin! now, Christine! now, Dimwit were fixin!

Those parents are stupid! Kidnap their children without even blinkin!

Damn the constitution! Let‘s take them all!

Now dash away! Crash away! Go have a ball!"

Like dry heaves and the wild tsetse fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, just flat out lie.

So into the households the coursers took new,

Fake court orders for Boys, and their Sisters too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard through false allegations so biled,

The gnashing of teeth and weeping of each little child.

The silence was sad, including those sounds,

Damn child services with their self anointed crowns.

They are happy with money, selling kid’s heads for their loot,

And they do what they want, parents get boot.

As judge, jury and executioners, they think they are bigger,

And they‘ll sell them kids off to the courts highest bidder.

Their eyes-how they twinkle! their pimples now cherry!

They think they’re like Moses, their wallets so merry!

Their dull little lives like freaks in a sideshow,

And the gear of their grin is as yellow spot snow.

The stump of a child they hold tight in their teeth,

And the stench it encircles their head like a wreath.

They have a cold face, shows lack of a mommy.
Why would they care, with that bowlful of money!

They are chubby and plump, fat off the riches,

And I have no pity for those sons-a-^&%$#(@!

Like Captain Bly, and pirates we dread,

Soon gave me to know they’re screwed up in the head!

After the kidnappings, they speak not a word,

They fill up their stockings, then run like a herd.

And laying their fingers inside their nose,

And giving the finger, up yours they pose!

They spring to their S.U.V‘s, to their team give a whistle,

And away they all fly, their theft is pretend legal.

But I hear them exclaim, ‘ere they drive out of sight,

"If they find hidden laws, we're all screwed tonight!"

No comments:

Post a Comment