'Twas the month before Easter, and snug in my house,
I worked at my PC, with keyboard and mouse.
Producing a story with one missing part,
Was the requirement which caused sinking heart.
But a poem, or sonnet, or haiku might do.
You be the judge now. Is it good, or just poo?
There's no way for me to decide if it's nice:
I don't think it's much cop. No way. No dice.
So I think I should stop now, in case I bore you, you know?
And besides, the time's getting on so I think I should go.