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I've never before writ a sonnet, but I thought it high time to try for a new tool to place just beneath my bonnet.
A toad one day went hopping down the street,
To find the jerk who stole his favorite wart.
Without that wart he did not feel complete.
“I’ll find that punk and drag him off to court.”
A moment later it began to rain.
The gutter filled with run-off water fast.
Our Toad was washed quite swiftly down the drain.
“I’ll die just like my daughter when she passed.”
Among debris he sputtered gasping air.
He cried for help while scrambling up a bank.
“I’m coming. Hang on,” lifted his despair.
“My daughter lives and I’ve this drain to thank.”
They hugged and smooched,“Hey Daddy, where’s your bump?”
“Some jerk my wart did steal, right off my rump.”
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