I have been skunked
and scorned along the stream
By my stream of unnecessary words,
Many of which could be called bad language,
That hit me hard in the end with a beam!
That branch grabbed my dry fly with certainty;
My inappropriate language was loud:
Not a scream, but a curse, or what did seem
An injustice to the world of the finned.
My boot slipped on a stone -- and I went down.
A snap! And a rod tip headed to sea.
My hand was able to rescue this bit;
My last word rhymed with "It" -- and then I frowned.
Please forgive me, clear Miss Wissahickon!
With this licking, I have learned my lesson!
copyright 2005 by ron P. swegman. all rights reserved.