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Once there was a poet,
And although he didn't know it,
He was only a good poet half the time,
He had a lot of troubles,
Writing about bubbles,
Couldn't find the rhythm or the rhyme.
He tried to write a poem,
All about the foam,
His mammy used to wash the dirty dishes,
But although his thoughts were fine,
He couldn't find the line,
That would express his most poetic wishes.
So he wrote about a rabbit,
That had a nasty habit,
Of using his white tail to wipe his nose,
And who became frustrated,
When he initiated,
An attempt to remove his furry clothes.
Now he sits up in his room,
And he hopes that some day soon,
He'll write the greatest poem ever written,
And that he'll be quite famous,
But I know no one will blame us,
If we seem to be a little less than smitten.
By Paddy Mulhern