Now dwells in the man-cave on Caroline's throne
Appearing quite bashful, his pupils have grown
To savor his taciturn style;
This linguistic wizard of well-advanced age
Possesses the smarts of a regular sage
Don't let his looks fool you, white hair's all the rage
when paired with his sarcastic smile;
Through nickname appointing, he pleasures the class
The "wombat", the "native", and far more, alas
His jovial moments are fleeting yet crass
And always in healthy supply;
The sobering truth, though, which everyone knows
Is soon he'll unwind in retirement's repose
For, sure 'twill be painful to say, as he goes,
"Goodbye, Mr. Whitlatch, goodbye."
No comments:
Post a Comment