When I met poor John one sunny morning,

He was clearly distressed, in deep mourning,

Burdened with anxiety.

I asked what ailed him. He said whispering:

“My wife died of mushroom poisoning.”

Oh what calamity!

Two years later, another bright morning,

He was again in very deep mourning,

Burdened with anxiety.

I asked what ailed him. He said whispering:

“My wife died of mushroom poisoning.”

Oh what calamity!

Three years passed; again he was in mourning,

Deeply distressed he was sighing, moaning,

Burdened with anxiety.

“My third wife died” – he said… There was a lull…

“It’s awful… She died of a broken skull.”

Oh what calamity!

“Oh, how tragic! Did she have a bad fall?

Dreadful accident?” – “Oh no, not at all.” -

He replied casually.

“It all happened so quick… in our bedroom…

That dumb cow refused to eat the mushroom.”

Oh what calamity!

© P. J. Oszmann (2001)

© Illustration created in Photoshop (2005)