Two pence, four pence, six pence, a buck.
Mike Pence...? No sense. So-o-o-o dense: yuck!
Whence our defense 'gainst this schmuck,
this prince 'mongst bad gents Pence...? Good luck!
Poet Poe pens nonsense verse. "Plus...phun," puns Uly, "I disburse." Its gamut runs from spam to worse. The po'sy posted...? Poe's diverse -- most, postcards from his universe, replies to grudges he must nurse. My summary...? Let me be terse: a mitzva, mostly. (Not a curse.)
