A Poet
There once lived in sunny Tweed Heads
a great poet who had many pets
from a crow who could talk
to a wombat who'd walk
over all of the poet's made beds.
And on weekends he welcomed a man
who brought with him a stainless steel can
it was full of the stuff
that is made for the tough
in the morning he didn't need bran.
Mr Fittock comes every week
and without him it would be so bleak
and on special free Mondays
he can dwell on his fun days
says the bible, hooray to the meek.
And when MY friend called Gentleman Jack
pays a visit to counterattack
it is Scotch or that Bourbon
which is slightly disturbing
I am sure we will throw a few back.
So this shorty was writ for AS
who has seen the pathetic big mess
on the site for true poets
but he wouldn't quite show it
like the monster of Scotland's Lochness.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
Added by Poetry Lover
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