Dear Kid,
This is the World’s Worst Poem about the ‘Quils (both Night and Day). If you squint, it mostly rhymes. There is pretty much nothing you can do to make it scan except pretend it’s free verse. Even then it’s pretty bad. I’m blaming my cold.
Ode to the ‘Quils
by Mom
I lie awake, my nose all stuffed
The tissue box has since been Puff’d
The garbage pail ain’t big enough(d)
Because I have A Cold.
The only thing to help me sleep
Throughout the night I’m in a heap
My snores like brontosauri creep
Being sick is getting old.
Then through the day, to stay awake
I prop my eyelids with a stake
And at my desk, the work I fake
Because having a cold is really no fun at all.
The chicken soup is mighty fine
And that is just how I will dine
It’s nice and hot and so sublime
At least I think it is because I can’t taste anything.
But chicken soup alone won’t do
And so I have to drink the goo
I’ll down it in a gulp or two
Because it tastes really bad with chicken soup.
Nothing in this goop tastes real
But who cares if it helps me heal
And “icky” matches how I feel
And I’d really rather be healthy at this point.
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