I was digging through my short-stories for some technical reason when I stumbled across this little poem. 😀 (I can see all the genuine poets cringing. Just because it rhymes – it is in fact a poem! Sorry, guys & gals!)
“Puccinia the pathogen
that rusted all my goldenrod
was getting on with rusting when
upon the goldenrod I trod.
Puccinia, though sweetly named
Is not the sister of Puccini
The old composer can’t be blamed
For damage done by this fungini.
While goldenrod’s a flower fair
And herb medicinal sublime,
I think I’d best get out of here
‘fore someone whacks me for my rhyme!
(*ducking and running away*)