Aren’t You Glad Alan Thicke Decided to Show Up: Day Twenty

I consider this my masterpiece, and I have little doubt that you will as well. Without further ado, here is my depiction of a line from "The Auroras of Autumn":

The father fetches his unherded herds,
Of barbarous tongue, slavered and panting halves
Of breath, obedient to his trumpet's touch.

This all makes a little more sense if you omit the comma from the first line, as I have recklessly done. The father of the poem is here pictured as Alan Thicke, between whose solid legs protrudes a sexual trumpet. Herds of barbarous tongue-animals gather round him. One of these tongue animals has inserted his pink self into the mouth of Alan’s trumpet and is exclaiming, “I love your blatty taste, Daddy!” as well you would if you had the chance to lick that instrument.