Poetry... really? Yeah. Suck it!

Here is a poem I wrote to trade someone for some art.

Revenge is so sweet for Wittering

By Michael Davidson

In a town where no wind ever reached,

A young man stood on corners and preached.

To quite down he would oft’ be beseeched,

But the young man’s heart was never breached.

For he claimed the good he had teached,

Even though he had problems with his speech.

With this here many problems can be found.

First off wherever the lad could see ground,

The young man would start to make his sure sound.

Little did he know there was a small mound:

For which the whole town knew that he was bound,

And would look away when he was around.

In this town you can find many places:

In each place you can find many races:

In a race you can find many faces.

The young man, his face requires braces.

And each brace with his tongue he oft’ traces.

Though no help they are when he makes cases.

Everyone knew for this fool the right noun.

And it was his true title in this town.

They all called the young man mad, loud clown.

Upon him they laid a poor fool’s sad crown:

Then led him by hand to the river down.

And in ignorant bliss the young man drown.

What happened to the boy wasn’t news,

Most just went home and took a nice, long snooze.

But trouble began to come fast in twos,

And to solve this, the town could find no clues.

But assured the wind, this town did lose.

People turned to violence and booze.

Trouble citizens made while flittering,

For this crime, on the people would it wring

When the breeze and the wind they could not bring,

The town was distraught and would soon unring

Death was easy now, men hanging by string

This was the revenge of young Wittering.