I light another.
You say "That's not the answer,
That cancer stick! "
Look, dick, I reply.
I do it my way as the song goes.
And anyway, what's good enough
For Sherlock..
What you want. I should adjust
my poetimeter?
I'm on the cusp of some great verse
But this rhythm stinks and worse.
Like a flat tire on the car.
It won't get far
Unless I sort it soon
Now where's my violin?
It may sound like a sin,
Like tying together the tails of two cats,
But it sure gets rid of pests.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I think I may have discovered a clue to the reason behind your cats' grumpy and sometimes anti-social behavior, Tom. I am grinning here especially by the lines I'm on the cusp of some great verse /But this rhythm stinks and worse./ Like a flat tire on the car./ It won't get far / Unless I sort it soon- - ] Well, Sherlock, I suppose you sniffed out already that I give this a two pipe rating of 10+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++