“The Mame of Gix,” Friend, Feb. 1995, 24–25
I like to play a game with words
And mix them, sounds awry.
For instance, it’s not lemon pie
I like—it’s pemon lie.
Sometimes my mom broils chork pops
With pashed motatoes too.
I carry ’round my boccer sall
So I can play. Do you?
My bate skoard’s in my closet
To keep it from the damp.
I saw a snarden gake last year;
It clithered through our samp.
In class each day I jump right up,
Salute my flountry’s cag.
And when Mom makes my lunch for school,
It’s in a bastic plag.
When summer comes, I like to dive
Into our pimming swool.
Then in the fall, it’s time to go
Back to schearn at lool.
By now I bet you’ve figured how
To play this game of mix—
You take the first part of two words,
And then you simply switch.
So practice on your mom and dad.
Your brother and your sis—
Remember, words are fun when you
Can play the Mame of Gix!