I have been trying really hard lately to lose weight. I mean, I have done everything under the sun. I have walked up and down the stairs a few times, I have done sit-ups (well, I did ONE sit up, to reach the remote.) I have also cried a lot about how fat I am, shouldn't that count for something?
Why can't the weight just lose itself? I just don't think I should be responsible for every little.... Hold on a sec, I just got a hankerin' for a ham sandwich.
Ok, I'm back. I haven't written a poem for awhile, so here is one that has been passed down through generations and generations... and then thrown away, but I snagged it out of the garbage:
Harold
-------------------
Harold was a lonely old man
and a sorry old man was he,
In winter winds through thick and thin
he ate til half past three.
This was a practice set in stone
and never would he budge,
But did this practice served him well?
I'll let you be the judge.
For on one blustery winter night
a stranger came to call,
But hunger forced that sad old man
to pay no mind at all.
The stranger, in a heated rage
set fire upon the spot
and turned and left the dumpy house
to turn from cold to hot.
If Harold felt the fire's sting
we'll prob'ly never know
for Harold sat and ate his food,
he loved his dinner so!
The point which I am making here
is one of loud forewarning,
if you eat too much at night,
you'll be sorry in the morning!
R.S. Pie Night - November 21
14 hours ago
6 comments:
Did you make that up? I guess I should have known, based on your previous poems, but you still surprise me. You had a point and carried it through all the way to the end. I wasn't expecting that!
And also, the poem was really good. How did you get so good?
poetic and proverbial, hopefully not prophetic
I love your sense of humor. :)
Glad to see that you're exercising so faithfully and regularly. Once in a row, is it?
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