An Epitath

Here lies The Hound, worm eaten,
horey old carcass weather beaten.
His timely passing won’t be noted
by the bastards for whom he voted.
So why in hell did he even try
when he knew he surely would die?
Why didn’t he simply party on;
‘cos that was not this bloke called Ron.

About a foolhardy florilegium

Nullius addictus iurare in verba magistri, quo me cumque rapit tempestas, deferor hospes.
This entry was posted in Humour. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s