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Okay, some parts of this poem the flow goes a bit wonky, but I love the message!

"An Oyster Opened Up and Sang A Cabaret"
By = Opus Van De Oplicter

Someone silly stooped along,
Dragging bollocks on the ground;
His head was not quite square,
But neither was it round.

He huffed and puffed and chuffed about,
With a mustache like a stray;
His clothes were not a bathing suit,
How we knew this, none could say.

I swear to God his rolls of fat
Slithered silently like snakes!
His eyes were not quite genuine,
But neither were they fakes.

The man's proboscis was quite large,
Nearly half his body's weight!
It was nearly eight times larger
Than the brain beneath his pate.

One leg was smaller than my hand,
While the other spanned five feet!
He had to slither on his back
And like a serpent creep!

I spoke to him, this silly man,
And asked him of his life;
I asked if he had children,
Or if he'd ever had a wife.

With a voice like a large wolverine
On the third night of some drug binge,
The man parted his lips to speak,
And I couldn't help but cringe.

Quoth he, "Young man, I admire you
For having the guts to speak to me;
Most people spot me coming toward,
And go running up a tree.

"No, I have no children,
Nor do I have a wife;
And I would not wish on any soul
This thing I call a life.

"When I was born my parents screamed,
And they said, 'Oh, it's no use!'
They tossed me out the window,
Before the doctor got a noose.

"Three days later I was found,
Nursing a stray dog's teat;
A gentle woman took us home,
And fed the bitch some meat.

"Nay, the woman was not blind,
She could see and hear me well;
But she knew how people saw me,
And knew it must be hell.

"For twenty years she raised me right,
I became smart and strong of will;
I ne'er let anything get in my way,
A philosophy I have still.

"Employers all will turn away,
Trying not to hurl;
The bank's loan officer saw me
And screamed like a little girl.

"But I make money plentiful,
By selling pretty things I make;
I sell historical clothes done so well
Scholars can't tell real from fake.

"Victorian dresses, corsets, gowns,
For all from history buff to Goth;
Men's apparel I do as well,
Online, I'm Papa Sloth."

"Papa sloth," I did exclaim,
For I wore a dress he'd made;
So verily, I was ashamed,
And thus I dropped my shade.

He picked up my dropped parasol,
And handed it to me;
Our eyes locked in that instant,
And he silently asked me,

"What is wrong, young man so brave?
Why the long, long face?
You were fine just now,
What happened to your grace?"

"Oh sir," I said with a wan smile,
"I have wronged and slighted you!
I judged you as I saw you walk,
And was quite repulsed by you.

"Your nose, your body, your arms, your legs,
Especially your clothes!
I'll bet a thousand people pass you by
And never guess or know.

"But now I find you've had a life
Much more difficult than mine;
Yet somehow, sir, you carry on,
In fact, you're doing fine.

"Your outlook seems so pleasant,
And you've made a living for yourself!
You're doing what you love,
Making clothes for everyone else.

"So who am I to judge you, sir,
When I've been so easy on the eyes?
I have not had your burden,
So I must apologize."

Papa Sloth then smiled at me,
And his lips parted all abuzz,
This time his voice sounded pleasant,
Like I suppose it really was.

"Never mind all that, kind soul,
You've more heart and soul than most;
And as to my poor fashion sense,
Never sleep in beds of toast."

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