There was a young woman from Texas
Who got a haircut in the city
Her friends wanted pictures
And left her lots of messages
But her computer became sick, reportedly.
This poem doesn't rhyme a little
But i hope you get the message completely
I love you a lot
But my computer is shot
It is getting first aid sort of immediately.
When it is better,
We'll talk, and we'll chatter,
And i'll tell you how i made soap with lots of lather.
My time is now gone.
I must travel on
And do my work so that they will pay me
But hopefully not with bon bons.
(See what i did there?)
This poem is getting worse by the stanza
So i'll go now, understandya?