You just read the first line
Of the rest of this bad poem.
And this, the third, won't rhyme
Unlike Cicero in Rome.
The fifth follows the fourth,
Sad to self-alliterate.
Seven unsheathes his sword
Assailing asinine eight
Consenting nine's express
Wrecks along ten's metric rails.
You find this poem pointless?
Yet dolphins don't have toenails
Poetic pedicures
Might trim the word weary sail.
That last fine line endures,
But sixteen beaches this tale.


Comments: 20
And this, the third, won't rhyme
Unlike Cicero in Rome.
wah,
wah,
wah
I hate to be Debbie Downer, Bart, but the offer expired 3 hours agos.
How will they paint them?
What about the Kittens?
Nobody writes poems about kittens anymore.
Will the kittens profits be bitten by the pittance?