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Iona, Iona
My theme, once again
Her thoughts so scattered
Acting as pigs in a pen

She never stops going
She rings up me late
And pours out her soul
With out a word thatÂ’s fake

I listen and wonder
"WhatÂ’s wrong with her now"
Was it a bum in the metro
Or the annoying cow

She usually tells me
Just how she feels
And makes me think
A about a thing on my heels

ItÂ’s been a while
Since I last saw her go
I but have a strong feeling
That we'll reunite soon, so

I can live at ease
With out a care on my mind
Sobbing as I want
Never moving my behind

Cause I know by the time
Iona'll show up
My cares will be gone
And it'll heel up my cut

But now once again
This poem, themed rubble
Has turned a away from Iona
And caused a bit of trouble

Back to Iona
The grand poet of her time
Stating down facts
And cutting the slime

Iona Iona,
Where was I, oh where?
Some between this 'n that
IÂ’m sure you donÂ’t care

But back to the point
Iona, IÂ’m sure
We all want another rubble
And the feeling is pure

Say what you like
Iona, it was great
It never lacked feeling
Not the start, not the make

An endless inspiration
That inspired me into this
To explore my mind poetically
Without taking the piss

One thing that IÂ’ve
Never thought of before
Is what Iona was thinking?
Challenging her mentor

When she produced theses grand words
The ones, destined to change lives
And the nice pictures of rubble
Which represented knives

And what was going on
In her grand, majestic head
When she produced rubble two
Which makes me twist in bed

This poem IÂ’m writing
Is getting too long
My mind is straying
And picturing Pamela in a thong

ThatÂ’s a good sign to stop
Cause this is really getting too wide
To big for me to comprehend
To walk or to stride

Iona Iona,
IÂ’m ending this now
My work is done
And yes, IÂ’ll take a bow