A parrot called Shakespeare
fell off of his perch,
and started to act all peculiar:
‘Once more!’ he did squawk.
‘Out, damned spot! Out, I say!’
Spot was the dog, a small Dachshund,
‘Out, out, Brief Candle!’
Brief Candle, the cat, left the room.
‘When shall we three meet again?’
but Spot and Brief Candle
were not there to answer;
‘The handle toward my hand!’
Shakespeare broke into breakdance;
but that parrot was no kind of dancer.
The vet was called
and she finally decided
that there was trouble at the millet.
And on that pun
I shall leave here
at a pace
that will be considered
on the run.