The concurrent voices rose in ominous chorus

Oh scrudge my face up from its lionesque stonework

First ya tek ya posies and ya put ’em in ya beaklet

I hast been ‘ere etnero lungful o’ woe

Then ya tek ya eyelets and ya wipe away the mist so ya can see from ’em

There ne’er was much ado about the greylings and how they tied thier tongues to the shambled shailings

And when a ring o’ roses grow
From ya eyes to ya elbow

I bunkem up the shailings and the dwellings speak the lingo of the flaylings

Then ya scream into the fire and…

And the whirl turned on its axel, precrius on its spindle

Ashes, ashes
we all fall down for the reapin’

And the seasons passed on the leavlings who posessed no choir for the ‘earing

Written for W3

Inspired by the rhyme ring a ring o’ roses and a previous W3 challenge.