PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Oh, the gol-durn train is laye again.

And the milk cans all have spilled again.

And the spilt milk makes me cry again.

And I am gol-durn scorn again,

and a laughing stock, an old has been.

And the turkey in the straw

cannot answer the question you all

are asking:  if I marry my sister again,

can I still be called my own brother-in-law?

She becomes more of a hoity toiter,

as swollen as this crusy goiter

that is lingering in my throat

causing this old neck to bloat.

That gol durn train is late again.