The challenge of this poem was to start every new line with a word that rhymes with the word that ends the previous line.
Mare will harvest her pumpkins one of these years Cheers to you all, she says, for she is unorthodox and crazy. Lazy is her middle name, for the pumpkins all rot. Not that she cares, for she is unconcerned about such stuff. Rough hands look like they have gardened, but she has not. Rot is what you find in her pumpkin patch this year again. Kin roll their eyes at her sloth-like ways, but she does not care. Mare does things in her own way, in her own time. She is strange. Range rover in her driveway has not been driven for a long time. Mime her sister tries to get her to be more normal of course. Hoarse laugh from Mare now. She is independent to a fault. Malt their brother thinks this is hilarious, but he loves her. Pure thinking keeps her in the family, for she is kind. Mind you, she does her best, they say, making excuses.
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