Robert Burns <br />the one who turns <br />inside the grave <br />where poets, brave <br />lie undisturbed <br />their writings curbed <br />went from the number 51 <br />where he was sitting having fun, <br />not to the number Fry had pledged <br />he was at first so tightly wedged <br />between illustrious company <br />and liars said they'd set him free <br />and move him up the scale at speed <br />to show the Shepherd that indeed <br />these numbers could be truly fiddled <br />I wonder if he wept and piddled, <br />but, struth, the project did not work <br />and one would feel a real jerk <br />and little kiddies on the street <br />found out that liars can be beat <br />they chanted therefore liar liar <br />you have your bloody pants on fire. <br />And Robert Burns hit sixty-four <br />which in itself can be a bore <br />it shows that no one can be trusted <br />and that their empty skulls be busted <br />their credibility is shattered <br />but knowing them, it never mattered.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fiddling-with-the-big-500-envy-story/
