Here lies the account,
Of two eccentric savants,
Known as T. D. Bumkyn, PhD.
And T.E. Dunkyne, LLD.
While sipping their brandy,
Their lexicons handy…
They began to discourse,
With grandiloquent snorts,
The diverse tones and structure,
Versus a TRUE poems nature.
Their discourse, digressed
On a tangent gone west
From poems obscure,
To prose, sweet and pure.
Their ascots pulled tight
With bladed words, did they fight!
Good naturedly bantering,
Their brandy splattering,
As each made a pass,
By raising his glass.
Bulbous noses reddening,
In the heat of their rhetoricing
Words slashed through the air,
Each beginning to glare.
(oh, you had to be there!)
Like two peacocks strutting,
Their egos head-butting;
(oh, the words they found)
Round after round.
Until one did utter,
In almost a mutter,
"You're IRASCIBLE ol' man."
And I won cause I can!
In shocked disbelief,
Chin hitting his feet;
Poor ol' Bumkyn admitted,
With a grin and a smack,
"Ol' Dunkyne, you got me....
now gimme my hat!"