Cyrus: A Limerick

There once was a lawyer named Cyrus
Who toiled with his quill and papyrus
With words so morose
That they sank like a dose
of codeine with which he would mire us

Fine stories were his speciality,
Though often distorted reality,
Some said that his jesting
Were doubts manifesting
At his heterosexuality

But with his own conscious insistence
He faced life’s tedium with indifference
Recognized the appeal
And embraced with some zeal
The banality of his own existence

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