Taxidermist Poem by Phil Soar

Taxidermist



My heart goes out to blighty,
That's what the surgeon said,
The year was 1936, and Oswald Twain was Dead,
The surgeon cut him open,
To see what made him snuff it,
He found a taxidermist, who had climbed inside to stuff it.

Saturday, March 28, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: funny
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