I sat down to write a poem. This is how it went:
Eat my pie
And I'll eat your tie
Take my book
And I'll drink your brook
And that's the end.
But as soon as I finished, I noticed...
The chicken came in the house.
"Mom! Mom! Come now!" I said running out as my wig flew off my head.
As soon as I came back in the room, I noticed my poem was gone. I looked and I looked, but all I could find was the chicken. The chicken didn't feel well. It fell over on its back, holding its stomach with its wings.
We took the chicken to the doctor.
"Why say! This chicken as eaten a piece of paper!" said the doctor.
"My poem!" I cried.
I went home sadly. Why, O, why hadn't I made a copy?
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