disaster doggerel

there once was a young poetaster
who thought that he was quite a master
his rhymes he did relish
and he was awfully zealish
(but frankly, he was a disaster)

this lad went to visit the king
armed with anthems and paeans to sing
but the monarch said “sonny,
you could take all my money
if it meant that you’d shut up — don’t sing!”

the young poet’s head drooped in woe
and he turned on his heel to go
when the king called “but wait —
it’s infernally late
and i’m bored … what jokes do you know?”

his temper this hardly did mellow
but the lad knew he shouldn’t be yellow
so he thought up a riddle
hummed hey-diddle-diddle
and said i once knew a fellow

who thought he was smart as an owl
but his rhymes were so ruddy foul
that they made his mum manic
put his pa in a panic
and set his dear doggy a-howl

but the fellow went straight to the king
for he knew that he had just the thing
for a boredom so chronic
that it seemed near demonic
(or, at least, something quite upsetting)

so he spun his good monarch a tale
of a poet doom-destined to fail
on his quest for renoun
’til he acted the clown
and with humor the king did regale

and so through the night spake the poet
though the king himself did not know it
but when he woke in the morning
he remembered, and storming
he threw the poor lad in the moat