It was a winter day at a Catholic school.
The nuns were stern, the weather was cruel.
But Wednesday at lunch, instead of regular gruel
We went to get a donut.
The street was damp with sleet and hail,
Our uniforms held water much like a pail.
It is quite truly a gruesome tale,
That is, getting a donut.
We walked four blocks in rain so cold
To buy a pastry with a center hole.
The lightning struck and the thunder rolled
As we marched to get our donut.
We bought our donut for $3.44
But our clothes were damp and our muscles sore.
We really couldn’t take much more,
So we bought a second donut.
Twelve point seven minutes later
They ran out of donuts, so I ate a potater.
My vocal patterns became a bit stranger
As we digested our donuts.
The weather calmed by half-past two,
So we headed back to school.
To my horror I began to drool
And my vision filled with donuts.
In a fit of rage I bit my friends.
They cowered in fear, they whined and begged.
Their arms tasted like donuts, as did their legs.
But their noses didn’t taste like donuts.
At this point, I was terrified.
The shop keeper ran up to me and cried,
“I have the antidote! Please come inside.”
‘Twas a pity he smelled of donuts.
The police arrived at ten-to-four
Upon a scene of blood and gore.
They had three donuts. I wanted four.
Luckily, the cops were seasoned like donuts.
The rage increased five minutes later.
I knew the cause was the potater.
I needed to remove it, rather sooner than later,
But I kept seeking more donuts.
When the rage abated I felt much bater.
I even ate a ripe tomater.
To this day, I don’t touch potaters,
And I hate the sight of donuts…
