A Modern Story

He sat in his shed so very sad With the only thing His dear mother had left to him Was two dozen clean mason jars So he drank down the last moon-shine That his mother had made Before she passed on to her reward And he looked and did his best thinkin’ Then a light went on in his head He would combine what he got for free And gathered his flatulence in the jars To sell them at the local market It was a task but he worked at it Eating cabbage, onion and boiled eggs Feeling accomplished when the last jar was filled But on market day his plan fell apart The local Constable seized his jars For you need a licence To sell gas from your ass Even with refills from a bottomless glass. © Paul Warren Poetry This was written from a story of the internet.