Alright my friends, there really is no excuse for this bad poetry, but please let me explain anyway. You see, a mutual friend is collecting "prescriptions of love" for another friend whose cancer is now in remission.
It is a wonderful thing.
It deserves better than this.
I wrote a lovely poem for him and his family in November. In December, I dedicated a thoughtful Haiku to accompany nearly 1000 cranes. Now, in January, this group of friends is dedicating a final, personal prescription book. Each person or family should complete a page for this book.
Like I said, there is no excuse for bad poetry (oh, its not even a poem, its a lymric, even worse). Here it is anyway.
There Once was a Man from Ohio
There once was a man from Ohio,
Who was handsome bald – me oh my Oh!
Although he was sick,
Smiles did the trick
I can’t make that rhyme if I try - no.
I will have to try something new now,
To keep you from feeling too blue now.
This IS what I know. I’ll give it a go.
What is this poor poet to do now?
I’m not even writing this poem,
Not sure what it will even show him.
What I want to say,
Won’t come my way.
I’ll have to leave this one at ho-em.
Well, Cancer just isn’t that funny.
If it was then I’d make some money.
It turns out it sucks,
So forget big bucks.
I write poems like moths make their honey.
I am glad these poems are over,
(If your dear wife reads this I’ll owe her.)
‘Cause Valentine hearts,
Just rhymes with farts.
And in March – What fool rhymes with clover?
I forgot that ‘prescription of love.’
That’s what I am supposed to think of.
For what you should do? I haven’t a clue.
Did you read that fool poem above?