Cyrus Maxwell is a lovely lad.
Even though his breath smells bad.
Garbage for supper then straight on to bed.
In the morning you’d’ve thought his insides were dead.
Cyrus can hardly keep a buddy
’cause his words smell so cruddy.
If you go too far, it might make him yell
and everything in sight will be dead from the smell.
What’s that you say? I exaggerate
this poor boy’s odorous fate?
Well, let me ask you one question right now,
Have you ever been near the rear end of a cow?
Once when he was twelve he gave a speech
on “How to Lengthen Your Reach.”
His arms did not heed his soliliquy
for his toothbrush and paste has yet to meet his teeth.
Poor Cyrus is as sweet as can be
despite the stench ‘hind his cheeks.
Mints can quickly fix his one fatal flaw
until the next time he dines in the rubbish stall.
Mark T. Collins
written in the Veranda at the Rabbit Hole and in the school room at the Rabbit Hole
© 2016 Mark T. Collins All Rights Reserved