SPOT

 

My brother has got

A spot on his bot.

He finds it hard

To sit still.

I think he will cry,

Maybe he’ll die,

If the spot he’s got

Isn’t killed.

It’s not quite

As simple

As just

A wee pimple,

It’s so much

Hotter than that.

It’s like an

Eruption,

Volcanic corruption,

Wrapped up in

Parcel of fat.

I think

I would toil

To call it

A boil

It’s more like

A pustule,

A blain,

A cluster

Of pus

As big as

A bus,

An infected

Packet of pain.

I know he’s

My brother

And I haven’t

Another

To whom

Concern

I should show.

But it’s really

Quite funny,

His bum will

Be runny,

When that

Spot finally

Blows!