Shall I compare thee to a babbling brook
or a stream of nonsense without surcease?
I can't recall the last breath you took
or the last time your flapping tongue took ease.
You wake each morning with words on your lips,
news like a noose, and a tale in each hand.
You bed down each night with your jaw still loose
and clacking, clacking - it's all I can stand!
Even your slumber puts silence to strain
with your grunting, groaning, and dreaming aloud.
Farting in verse, and then snoring refrains!
I cover my ears, but hear every sound.
For me, there's no peace this side of the shroud.
Then, at my funeral, you'll mourn too loud.
For Shakespeare's Birthday at Real Toads.
Also hooking up with dVerse.