Scrabble Poetry #2

Please, don't nap

while following the map.

Or do, if the sap falls,

golden, in a pan...

Find a penny by a sea,

stop the oil flowing free,

the lamb on the flea.

A mound of bells,

mullberries fallen 

by the bushel.

Stop the bustle now, 

and mop the mirror,

rip that rim, or rib.

Pickles in a lime brine

are now in their prime.

There's a fire in the mire

a dire pyre, climbing higher.

Some wire strings

for your singing lyre.

The vent's bent now,

that dented minty tint,

a pin on a bin

will make quite a din:

bing, ting ding.

 Or ring, if you want