Poem of the Day

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Forty all


This is the tale of a horrid blister,

caused directly by my sister.


I borrowed her shoes for a tennis twosome,

and soon my heel became very gruesome.


First it rubbed pink, and then bright red,

and as I played, it bled and bled.


There were pools of blood all over the place

Some of it splashed as far as my face.


I used plenty of bandaids, criss and cross,

and kept on playing, splish and splosh.


I slid and slithered around that court,

never was a game so wetly fought.


But in all that blood, I lost the ball,

so the game was ended, forty all.


My blistered heel was a dreadful pain,

but sister said it was a bloody good game.


Margaret Pearce


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