My poem is a simple one. It's not highbrow or obscure.
I promise it won't be too long for your patience to endure.
I'll tell you of a public talk when I went with friends of mine
to hear an expert's lecture on the hist'ry of Roman times.
In front row seats we found our place then settled in and waited.
The speaker came with many notes; his views were highly rated.
He spoke at length of war campaigns, the milit'ry might of Rome.
I fidgeted in boredom's grip, and began to think of home.
His voice droned on and on, so dull, in slumber I dozed off, deep.
My friend nudged me to wake me up; I fell in a tumbled heap.
Embarrassing to say the least, but I wasn't finished yet.
I tried to save the moment, now it's one I'll never forget.
A childhood joke had come to mind which I thought that I could share,
with the aim that I could brighten up the mood of all those there.
I was in the spotlight, so I decided to tell that joke.
My friend was hissing: 'Just sit down!' but I carried on and spoke.
I asked the expert if he knew where Caesar kept his armies.
He looked at me with blank dismay. I told him: "In his sleevies!"
His face grew red. Would he be cross at me for causing a scene?
Thankfully, he laughed with glee. I'm pleased I lightened his routine.
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