He’d be counting out the granules in his coffee,
He’d even count how many tiles were on the floor,
He would wax lyrical about the kidney bean,
You see, young Edwin was a bore!
Oh yes, he could bore for England,
Spouting out useless facts and figures all,
Yet Edwin really had no conception,
That he was about to take a mighty fall!
It happened early one Monday morning,
Just as Edwin got to work,
His workmates had frankly had enough of him by now,
In fact they thought he was the consummate dork.
What they did to him was really rather clever,
Although Edwin plainly did not see it thus,
They carried him aloft, right into the road,
And chucked him under the number 37 bus.
Yet Edwin he did survive this awful trauma,
He even thought of boring things to say,
Lying there in traction in his sectioned hospital bed,
This bore lived to bore another day.
He spoke of doses to his nurses,
Talked drivel to the sisters so they’d faint,
Even the hapless hospital cleaners,
Were happier watching drying paint.
Back home Edwin had a carer,
A buxom lass known by the name of Beth,
Yet when she could not take it any longer,
With a pillow she did smother him to death.
Even Edwin’s headstone in the graveyard,
With his boring bones rotting underneath,
Conveyed the boring message that the last bit of him to degrade,
Would without doubt be his teeth.