There
was once a young poet named Beau,
Who
wrote sonnets the worst ever sean;
He made a loud brag
That he wrote for a mag’ –
‘Twas
a girl, not a real magazean.
A
novelist said I’ll prepare
A
novel who’s plot is most rare;
The plot grew so thick
The ink wouldn’t stick,
And
so he gave up in despare.
c.
Aug. 3, ‘09
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