I saw an old skinny man, at the edge of an old brook,
God knows what he was doing, holding a big crooked hook.
I thought he’d swim across the waters, to catch some tiny fish,
He danced in circles and sang a sonnet, flew up his hat instead.
His shoes were muddy and his trousers smelled like dirty smoke,
He took his hook and dipped in the brook, I thought he’d so some trick.
I wondered if this man was fine, or did he have some crazy disorder,
But he seemed so happy on his own, that I thought to leave him in his order.
So I walked by this old broken brook, pretended not to overlook,
This poem is funny and crazy, just some ‘nonsense’ out of the blue.