Here was a famous poet Who spoke bland prose Of course he rhymed it And also perfect-timed it With a lovely yellow rose Beside the garden hose. When he just blinked The glasses straightaway clinked Celebrating, celebrating Cerebrating and calibrating. His best poet friend winked Two times over the nose. Celebrating, cerebrating And simply prating. When not inebriating. Pardon for grammar goofups They land me in real stickups Don't ask me why nose It rhymed so well with prose. He was no mountain goat He got all his meters by rote. He thought hard and hard Just like the famous bard But nothing would emerge Except a solitary dirge A really sad, sad dirge Followed by tears in a splurge. No one was really dead For rhyme his friend lay dead On the ancestral threepost bed. The bedpost promptly tilted As his lover's flowers wilted And she promptly felt jilted. She hit him hard on the brow What would she do anyhow ? She then gluck-glucked as if in mime Utterly fizzy soda and lime For the sake of instant rhyme.
