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I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunnèd it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright;
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole:
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
Note from Joe: Some movies are so bad that they’re good, such as the hilariously stupid The Blob.
Well, the same principle applies to poetry. Many years ago, one of my math students (whose name I withhold
for her own protection) wrote the following parody. It’s so bad that it makes me howl. Enjoy!
The Poison Fro
by -name withheld-
I was angry with my friend.
I told my wrath. My wrath did end.
I was angry with my fro.
I combed it not. My fro did grow.
And I styled it with gel.
How I love that Afro smell!
Then I pumped it with Soul Glow.
Grow, you big, mean, nasty fro!
And it grew both day and night,
Till it had a sheen so bright
That my eyes beheld its shine
And I knew that it was mine!
I love my fro! I love it so!
I water it with Miracle-Grow!
In the morning I won’t see
My fro fall out beneath no tree!
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