Sonnet: A Goon Poet
There was a Crook who’s into small-time crime
So nimble in theft and pocket picking.
He indulged in this guilty job full time;
It’s how he would carry on his living.
Then a poet named Tongue while at a tree
Called upon him: “Ne’er like this fill your purse;
Be off your track and take to poetry
Or else god on you hurls many a curse.”
So Crook looking into books, made a shift
And began to think a lot on the rhyme;
Good poems of others he’d neatly lift
And win good laurels and prizes of prime.
Who can say a tiger his stripes would change?
How could a goon his basic traits estrange?
[Oct 12,2009: : Greenfield, WI]
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