The writer of limericks,

In a funk that sticks…

Him inside

An elephant’s hide,

The trunk–it feels like  this!

Blood sugar was three twenty-two,

This morning–awful but true–

To one ninety-one

When evening had come,

Would you be cranky too?

It’s not just how he ate,

Much more figuratively on his plate…

Inspection Friday

And huge bills to pay,

Almost in a defeated state.

It was him that was his undoing,

He’s praying for a rescuing…

Maybe a way

Through his Four-oh-one-Kay,

He could reverse his undoing!

–Jonathan Caswell

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