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There once was a poet named Stu,
he would write 'til his fingers turned blue.
When he searched for a rhyme
he committed a crime,
they said only free-versing for you.
In the greatest of rivers, the Nile
lived a six meter crocodile.
A reptilian purist
he would eat only tourists
you could tell when he had, by his smile.
My great uncle Dan is no more
he would sleep standing up and would snore.
With his mouth open wide
a huge roach crawled inside
and it left through the open back door.
Herbert Nehrlich
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