“Finished,” said the mutt of bland house. 

Eight and ten o’five o’clock. 

Wait until the softened poop established, 

Lay the rollin’ muddy brick. 

“Smelly,” said the butt of small mouse. 

Eight and ten o’six o’clock. 

“For your fate”, he said in cautioned tones still, 

“This will slow a nature’s clock.” 

“Strain,” he did on thrones, Ceramic, 

stop, intense, until he'd drop. 

Wonder, shocker, venture, digging dire,

 Bippity plippity plop.