Bizarre Poem by Theresa Ann Moore

John was a mean son of a gun
He would yell and make children run
His dog growled and drooled profusely
A loathsome duo to put it loosely

John had long hair and never showered
When he walked near a cow her milk soured
Vast amounts of bees buzzed and hovered
Drawn to the twosome; soon they covered

Every inch was concealed from the eye
Swatting and staggering they finally died
The moral to this tale is that if you are
Cantankerous your departure may be bizarre

2/5/08