Unfortunately, my entry ran somewhat over the 20-line limit, and I was forced to cut it into three parts and submit them separately. Fortunately, you, the lucky (and wise and discerning) readers of this blog can read the whole unexpurgated masterpiece right here:

As we travel through our lives,
We all encounter certain woes;
For happiness is fleeting,
And contentment comes and goes,
And good fortune never lingers -
The tide ebbs after it flows.
But I never dreamed I'd find the dog
That ate my mother's toes.

The day was brisk, the sky was grey,
The trees were filled with crows;
I'd just filled up my fishpond
With the neighbour's garden hose.
I fumbled for a handkerchief
With which to blow my nose -
And then looked up, and saw the dog
That ate my mother's toes.

I looked at him; he looked at me;
He was chewing on a rose.
His eyes were hard, his mouth was set -
Determined, I suppose.
I'd have gone and fetched my shotgun -
But I don't got me one of those.
So I stood my ground and faced the fiend
That ate my mother's toes.

We glared into each other's eyes
The bitterest of foes:
The fellow who just lives his life,
The dog that feeds on does.
And then he got run over -
One reaps just what one sows -
And lay there dying, the vile beast
That ate my mother's toes.

My poetry may sometimes rhyme,
But can't compete with Poe's.
The meter changes over time;
The rhyming comes and goes.
My one last act I will remark,
For none here would oppose:
I kicked him in the ribs and he
Coughed up my mother's toes.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 01:31 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Post contains 334 words, total size 2 kb.