Ode to a Paper Towel
A purple stain lay on the floor
where a deadly battle was before.
My paper towel is no more
for in the battle, the poor guy tore.
The raging war went for an hour
and he used such absorbent power.
The grape juice won, and the puddle’s girth
was so big, it caused much mirth.
And so this poem’s moral is
never mix grape juice with root beer fizz.