Sense of humor.

This is a poem for the young and the old.
For the rich and the poor.

For the folk and the lore.

This is a poem about a man.

Who cared to much.

So much that he lost his touch.

His sense of humor.

He would not laugh at his friends brain tumor.

Ohh so sad the man was with no humor.

He felt that the locals were spreading a rumor.

The man had sold his soul.

Just for a peice of charcoal.

he handed it to satan in a bowl.

with his soul in his right and his coal in the left.

The mans soul had surly left.

But one day the man saw a squerrel.

The squerrel had started to burrow.

The man was strangely ammused and filled with glee. To see the the squerrel had buried thee.

The man laughed out in harmony he did that day.

For the soul he had lost the squerrel had found.

Snatched it off of satans crown.