Not Amused
O~ what dread
My muse in bed
Dear me~ that's ink she's bled
Tried sopping it with bread
Her boots been filled with lead
I think she's good as dead
O~ good grief she said
Shaking her head
You've been misled
You plain misread
She left her body there and fled
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Submitted on August 4, 2020 for contest FAVOURITE POEM IN RHYME FROM JULY 2019 sponsored by JULIA WARD
Originally posted on July 29, 2019
Copyright © Line Gauthier | Year Posted 2019
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