The Late Michael Jackson

An enduringly charming singer, His heard voice did linger, His conquering kicks of a Ninja, To The Despairing, a ginger. Wondrously effusive a singer, His lyrics a bell ringer And to millions, their Bliss Bringer: Losers to the heists of Dead Dillinger. His rhythms rolled the ball of God Wingers, The strings of his guitars plucked by practised fingers. Every handed Grammy, For his doted - upon mummy, Some of the songs he did tailor, For his Elizabeth Taylor. For the most part doubly likeable, And a character quite believable, Save for the wanton plastic surgeries, Describable in terms of body forgeries… It had to be a Virgo’s tinkering with one’s health, In same willing to sink unthinkable wealth.