There once was a poet named Bates Whose limericks were never that great His first lines weren't bad But the problem he had Was he always tried to fit way too many syllables in at the end.
Over quarantine, I’ve really gotten into gardening. I am especially enamored with growing chard varieties. So much so I’ve written a book of poems about their taproots. I hope to one day be recognized as the beet poet of our generation!
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