H. Dumpty's horrific fall

round as a brittle,

egg-shaped butterball,

feelin’ fat, and so depressed 

he’d very nearly bawl,

and in no condition to firm

engage in such as

barroom brawl—

and drained from dreary shoppin’ walk

with wife down numerous aisles of

outlet mall—

blue Humpty Dumpty sat,

stout legs adanglin’,

havin’ clambered high

on red brick country wall …

for to deliberate

and to contemplate

havin’ gained o’er time

a bunch too many pounds

from simple carbs he ate.

unfort’nate Mr. Dumpty

had one horrific fall

from that selfsame stiff wall,

after which he quick

came hospitalized

and, in crisis mode, near

mercif’ly anesthetized.

(Mrs. D, alas! alas!

did try her gloomy darnedest

not to be a false alarmist!)

but—too late!—

not e’en the gifted surgeon

who could quickly amputate,

who held brisk round of golf

on his after-surgery plate,

could fix poor Humpty Dumpty

even to a slight degree.

at any rate,

post-op there’s no debate,

none that we outspokenly create:

although not yet retired

from his couch-potato job

tastin’ golden corn on fancy cob—

and bein’ much admired

by everyone on call

(at no risk of bein’ fired,

though chronically o’ertired)—

from arcane internal injuries

Humpty Dumpty quite soon expired.