There once was a self-proclaimed German
Whose brown-ness to him was a burden.
He thought he knew best ‘til put to the test.
So foolishly was he determined.

So one day did find him a letter
And, boy, what an unhappy getter:
His nephew’d be married five months to the day.
How couldn’t he go? No, he’d better.

“By plane we will travel!”
Such plans, though, unravel
When flights are delayed by the fog.
By end of the day, much to his dismay,
To India did the plane slog.

At rickshaws he scoffed,
“Their seats are not soft. We must travel only by bus.”
And with this decree, not only did he
Doom himself but with him all of us.

At last him approached a last bus.
To him, said the driver, “You fuss.”
Soon will it be dark, so my words do, Sir, mark.
You won’t find a ride after us.

If ever a filthier coach
Existed twas far b’yond reproach.
I dare you to find me a roach
Who on this last bus would encroach.

More windows were shattered than those still intact.
Include in the latter a count of those cracked.
It rained through the night without minute’s relent.
Our tumbling luggage our straits did augment.

And then the man said, “Do not eat.
To finer a dinner I’ll treat.
This is but a rest stop and far more will come.
For now, we’ll do best to retreat.”

In some hours met him New Rest Stop.
To which belonged not just one stovetop.
Compared to the last, this place we’d have passed
But hunger our judgement would flop.

The wedding was only a little too brown.
“Successful weddings in alcohol drown!”
But home we’d be nearing in half week and a day.
It’s always a simple plane ride away.

The airport this time was closer to ‘home.’
A cab would suffice for this sort of roam.
And yes, I know ‘horse’ doesn’t quite rhyme with ‘home’
And that they’re not fitting for roaming from home.

For cab hitting horses, this man was no match.
And what for this driver on horse ranching patch?
But for the big showdown, our man had no time.
So leaving this unresolved scene was his crime.

Perhaps here above I wrote one little glitch.
As out of the car his weight did he switch,
Landed our fellow in no worse a place
Than a yucky smelly ditch with sewage on his face.

And so the man walked to the airport that way.
They say the man’s knee grew three sizes that day.
It swelled and it swelled as with puss did it fill
As the doctor explained him while manning a drill.

There once was a self-proclaimed German
So in his self-hatred determined.
He swore he knew all there’s to know
And for it had nothing to show.