50 -1789

Poem number 50
.
1789
.
The guillotine took off his head
They’d sliced him like a loaf of bread
The blade came down and now he’s dead
Voila monsieur, encore!
.
His crime was being too well bred
And fairly often too well fed
His blood was blue but now it’s red
Voila monsieur, encore!
.
He should’ve packed a bag and fled
But lazed upon his feather bed
So now he’s underground instead
Voila monsieur, encore!

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