(Another messy poem, I'm afraid!
At least there are some gems in it, though not mine.)
. MU.D.. IS A.NOUN…
the books lay there – ah, S.EEPING MU.D..!
THE MU.D.. ON THE .INK., I say;
I want to try – I wish I could -
rescue THE BO.Y IN THE ..B.A.Y!
MU.D.. I. M..OP…M.A! ah, MU.D.. .S EAS.;
W.. .ID.. ..E. .S. E.A.S? THE MU.D.. AT THE ……CAGE,
plus MU.D.. ON THE OR.E.. ..PRESS;
mud afflicts each titled page:
her novels, that brought wealth and fame
(Poirot and Marple found
success greater than Tuppence!)
now lie soiled upon the ground;
….. IN THE CLO.DS my bookshelf’s fettered!
all the titles? dank and smeared –
END..S. NIGH.! flood’s left some letters
legible; rest disappeared.
(Just ask if you want to know.
We actually do have the titles on our bookshelf, thanks to my wife ordering them as a collection.)