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The poet sat armed
With his pod and pen
Facing the fearsome
deadlines again
The poet was a master
The poet was a tease
He knew very well
Just How to please
“Give them mush”
he was fond of saying.
“Mush is the way to get ‘em”.
He sat with his pen
waiting for the mush
to come out surging
With the familiar gush
The hunger, the craving
The passion, the yen
But none poured
Out of his seasoned pen!
He shook his pen,
and dipped his pen
In the bottle of mush
Again and again,
Oh No! The bottle,
was dry as a bone!
He was out of mush
He thought with a groan.
The days went by
The pen stayed dry,
No longer could wait
in this desperate state,
So he set out to dial
two eight eight eight
eight eight eight eight!
“Mush-R-Us?
rush a refill of mush
Premium,
Anything is fine.
This is a matter of
life and death
My mush-less muse is
Gasping for breath!
So Pronto, right now!
And don’t ask me HOW! ”
***
"Ding Dong!" He Sprang
to the door in a rush
Outside there stood
The Goddess of Mush!
A radiant vision,
from the top of her head
To her stiletto heel,
Slowly the Goddess
Sashayed in the room
Her eyes held a promise
Of an exquisite doom.
She had shaken poor poet
To his foundation
As she stretched out her arms
in an ardent invitation.
She kissed him on the lips
amused to see him blush
The poet had dissolved
In a puddle of mush.
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