Thou face of a cows backside;
May your hair grow so long no brush can tame it,
May each passing day make your already withered skin wrinkle,
And may your face take the appearance an old prune.
May a horde of flea infected rats invade your house,
So that you lose both food and friend.
May you be infected with a never dying itch,
And may you eat nought but stilton cheese for the rest of you days.
May your words turn to sand in your mouth,
And may you be cursed with the incurable wet-the-bed disorder,
So you are forever the object of humiliation.
May you're legs become so thick
That they grow red with rubbing,
And last, May you inflate to be so large,
So, that in your popping,
you take on the appearance of a deflated balloon,
May your body then be strung on the empire state building
Serving as a warning to all those that come after you.
© Alexandra Rattray All rights reserved, 14 December 2004