There once was a fellow named Mark <br />he did harbour a streak that was dark. <br />In his strawberry pie <br />he discovered a fly <br />but was glad that it wasn't a shark. <br /> <br />The above is all fine, also dandy <br />and one day when this fellow drank brandy <br />he got grease in his eye <br />from the pan used to fry <br />and he quickly called Handy Andy. <br /> <br />And this poet wrote many a poem, <br />takes a Shepherd-type expert to know 'em. <br />He got sick of his name <br />and commenced a new game, <br />as to names, he then started to grow 'em. <br /> <br />But he did have a sense of good humour <br />he had grown it with care, like a tumour. <br />When his fame reached a peak <br />he doled out his critique <br />but the bluntness is only a rumour.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mark-kingmountainfry/
