The Wort Report Poem by Carla J Nelson

A fellow named Mort,
A professor of hort,
Was eating a torte
Of the savory sort,
When he downed a quart
Of vintage old port
And began a report
On plants ending in 'wort.'
His attempt was cut short,
When he started to snort
Then began to cavort
From starboard to port
And was forced to abort
After landing in court,
Where the judge (a poor sport)
Sent him to a 'resort, '
That looked like a fort.
Poor Mort!