Old Rhymster's Selfie Epitaph
There was an elderly poet
Who could never keep quiet
When he sought for a rhyme
To match his supper sublime,
Befitting his super-healthy diet.
He wanted it faultless,
Both sugar-free and salt-less,
But not too tasteless,
Or too waist-less,
For his drinks were seldom malt-less.
Here I must mention,
That his problem was not tension,
But that the kitchen tap was blocked.
Famished and shocked,
He could not remember
The cell-phone number
Of his trusted plumber.
He shouted a curse,
But what made it worse,
And utterly rotten,
Was that he had forgotten
Whether he could or not
Try a novel shot
To rhyme ‘plumber' with ‘summer'.
Oh, that rhyming old back-number.
Topic(s): light poetry
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