The Toastmaster's Brawl Poem by James Walter Orr

Ahh, life is exciting, but here is the rub
about life in the Logan Toastmaster's club:
'Twas March twenty third, two thousand and seven:
Cathe baked bread but she left out the leaven.

Everyone knows, but there's some who won't tell it,
Yeast is good leaven but some cannot spell it.
Making good bread calls for making good speeches:
A fact that's not learned while walking the beaches.

When faced with a choice between soaking the sun,
And thinking of yeast when you're baking a bun,
Ends up, though I say this with utter dismay,
In rushing through bread making so's to go play.

If we prune a long story down to be short,
To worry 'bout leaven of any old sort,
Is out of the reach of a beach-bunny's realm.
Her thoughts about baking don't answer the helm.

Stony the buns that come out of the oven,
Which does not elicit bread lovers' love'n.
Decorum was broken when somebody threw,
A bun at the speaker, and in return drew,

A roll, hard as stone, to the side of his head.
He dropped, with his face in the gravy, like dead.
They called in the army and order restored,
While out in the surf on her new body-board,

Without any worries of speeches or grub,
Or troubles that broke up the Toastmaster's club,
Surfed the beach-bunny cook who started it all.
So happened what's known as the Toastmaster's brawl!