Karla in the Roaster of Lightening…

More of a stormaphobic one cannot be,

She claims she is quite scared and that I can see,

But out of her fear comes writes and great poetry,

I think she is just jesting with us, that is her key…

A lightening strike did roast her good,

Fried was she more than twice,

Basted in a gravy of rain,

Finding it hard to believe all her strain,

She does her best to let us all know,

Bitch and moan, whine and howl,

She does her most to complain…

Not that we don’t believe in her tirades,

Regards storms and weather, and all of her frights,

But tired we get, when we have to hear it, her gripes,

Over and over we get inundated and abused,

Now the abuse is on the other foot,

As the original is in a cast, put there by complaints,

That do more than they do last…

If weather is such a bother to my dear friend, Karla,

Maybe changing her name to another, like Marla,

Will take away her fear and give her a new outlook,

But the old one is tired, way worn out, forlorned I do lament…

I hope again that this roast, as it were, is taken in jest,

If not I will expect a big wind this night to uproot my home,

Dropping me and Rufuz somewhere over the rainbow,

With the wicked witch of Texas chasing us on a broom,

Trying to whip us both with a switch, no I don’t take shrooms…

          © ed – 5/24/04