Poems ✍️

The grapes of Wrath fell in the bath
and sank right to the bottom,
he fished one out from under Kath
committing an erratum.
Drawn from a magnet to the patch
where moss grows wild and freely
his hand got drawn into a snatch
and all was touchy-feely.
Who thought that grapes would disappear
inside a tub of bubbles
he let her have a sip of beer
which added to his troubles.
She lectured him, my dear old man
you may not know the reason
I share the bath with Maryanne
and grapes are out of season.