He’d always had a penchant for pun and rhyme
as far back as he could remember to another time.
He’d penned his share of ditties, doggerel, and verse
which he most likely was still doing in his hearse.

It started in high school passing notes
to lovely young damsels seeking their votes,
and when they giggled right out loud,
he knew he had them, and he was on a cloud.

Everyone agreed his content was great,
but that his meter was absolutely cut rate.
It didn’t seem to matter at all
for his nonsense the damsels seemed to fall.

And after college while on the job,
he met the girl with whom he wanted to hobnob.
So he penned his stuff and passed it along,
expecting to hear her laughter and song.
But she looked at him with deep disdain
and told him not a poet feign.

Jolted by this dismissal rare,
he began to write again with much more care,
dropping his meter, rhyme, and wordplay,
and hoping that she would not say nay.

And indeed an affirmative response he got,
but he was so excited, he dropped on the spot.

In death he was lauded for what he was not,
a romantic, literary, poetic hotshot.

And that is why I have shared his fate,
so I could set the record straight.