My fountain pen began to moan, <br />The thirsty little thing, <br />My fountain pen began to groan, <br />For me, some ink to bring... <br />I filled my fountain pen once more <br />And heard it burb with glee, <br />So I got ready to outpour <br />Some brand new poetry... <br /> <br />I wonder, do we moan as well, <br />When parched just like my pen? <br />Or do we hide inside our shell <br />And not raise hell again? <br />If we don't ask, then we don't get, <br />Ask hagglers saving cash, <br />If we don't ask, we'll face regret, <br />Polite, not acting rash... <br /> <br />That restaurant served tasty food, <br />We'd no need to complain, <br />Alas, that poor wine changed the mood, <br />So should we tip again? <br />It's up to you! Do what you want! <br />But I don't tip when sad, <br />But I will toast the restaurant <br />Each time that I leave glad! <br /> <br />Consumer rights, consumer needs, <br />It helps if we are right, <br />That's when our moaning most succeeds, <br />When hard to stay polite! <br />My fountain pen was parched and dry, <br />So thirsty, so downcast... <br />Yet now, new poems I can try, <br />Because I acted fast! <br /> <br /> <br />Denis Martindale, copyright, July 2013.<br /><br />Denis Martindale<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-parched-pen/
