A Challenge In Rhyme
By Sandra Osborne
A murdered poet? Is it true?
What the hell should we do?
Should we bid ourselves adieu?
Should we cheer, should we boo?
Should we shout into the blue?
Should we gasp, should we coo?
Should we drink the fallen dew?
Make a coat of a newborn ewe?
Mourn the loved and fallen few?
Stop and hold us all with glue?
Laugh at those of even hue?
And were God’s first people really Jews?
Cause I Never heard of one named Lou.
Yes, cows are always saying moo,
That of course, is nothing new.
There’s nothing here for saying “oooo”
Or sitting pious in a pew,
Or standing in a pious queue,
Or in Paris at the Rue.
American’s will always sue.
Yes they will, and me too.
So here’s a “Dear John” line for you:
And all without a darkened view,
There’s nothing left to win or woo,
Nothing left but me and you.
Surely seems like a lonely zoo
