Old Rhymster's Selfie Epitaph Poem by Ananta Madhavan

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.