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"I stink of fish," the young man said
"a bath, I think, and thence to bed"
and with these words he went upstairs
where he preferred to lay his head.
I watched him go, though no one dares
to tell him of the people's stares
as he performs his daily chores
with not a hint of worldly cares.
A village such as this has bores
who poke and prod at shuttered doors
that should remain forever barred
against the gossip merchant wars.
The young man's life is extra-hard
thanks to the actions of a guard
who dallied long with herring red
and made his son a half-pilchard.
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6 comments:
Oh dear. What a sad and dangerous life. One wouldn't want to get around a hot frying pan by mistake would one?
*laughs*
A little nonsense poem ;)
Poor lad. Great nonsensical work.
Echoing Nat. I liked this rather a lot!
That is very funny - love it.
Thank you!
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