Sod Poem by Gary Diamond

Him and his dirty law.
He's a dirty little poet.
He got lucky because he dug in his claw.
Only by one saying is he known.
He's a fraud; same as Occam.

I liken his form to that of a gnome
But not your garden variety.
He looks like a gnome who had cosmetic surgery
So he's still ugly
Just the wrinkles were stretched out and his roots were dyed.

He looked like a disposable old wino
No more a man than a plant is an automobile.
Quite a sorry mess.
Even his sunday jacket hangs crooked.

Somehow though, this little joke
Got the last laugh after all.
He told us, in his fluke turn at wisdom's wheel
That when all circumstances lined up
Like the moon hurtling towards eclipse
The rains would fall.

He taught me that absolute hope is downfall.
He taught me that acceptance of failure is successes key.
He taught me that when all the odds looked good
Some unforseen machination would desecrate it all.

Thank you Sod.
Thank you for Your Law.
It should have been the
11th Commandment.