Head-scratcher

This is the story

Of how a narky

Met his miss fortune

On a frozen dune

The man dates back

To the dryness out back

And the noisy hymns

Of a choir of mums

His miss fortune sat

On the remains of your day

While what was left off the bat

Blew in an empty odd-itorium

What was the man’s name, you ask?

Why was he hidden behind a skim ask

Well, the man was not a wordy

Yet, his name was Dick Shonry.

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