Wednesday, 22 June 2011

The Dentist

Just looked at my calendar, I have a dentist appointment next week, so I made up this poem.

Sorry I can't come to dinner tonight, I went to the dentist today,
There was plenty of action and many extractions, and all I can do is pray.
That my dentures so new,will allow me to chew,
Won't spit when I talk, or snap at my fork
Won't dribble when I eat, or fall out when I speak.
They do as they please, I dread a cough or a sneeze.
I'm losing my sanity, I'm near on my knees
I swear I've got  Tauretts disease.
So I won't come to dine, till my teeth toe the line
I'd feel such a pratt, if they ended up in your lap,

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