George and John seem to have the market cornered, but I keep working in case their entries get lost in cyberspace due to a worm I am trying to develop for just these purposes.
THE ASCETIC
There are no shoes upon my feet,
no cushions on my stool.
For days on end I do not eat
and when I do, it's gruel.
I don't indulge in vice or sin,
and yet I still atone.
The loin cloth itches that I'm in.
My pillow is a stone.
I do not laugh, I do not speak,
I do not leave my hut.
I urinate but once a week.
My windows are all shut.
I try to live like Paul, the Saint,
whose life was so austere.
I find I have but one complaint:
I sure could use a beer.
*
PS-- Oops, I see too late the limit it 14 lines. I might have to lose S3.
|