Daniel Sprout Poem by Kevin Hulme

There is a man called Daniel Sprout,
Who can never talk soft, for his style is to Shout.
He Shouts at the Priest when Confessing his Sins,
And shocks all the Nuns by the Carnality there-in.
He Shouts in the Chemist when he tries to confide,
What Cream that he needs, and where it's applied.
Reads aloud in the Library when perusing a Tome,
‘Lady Chatterley' it was, that got the Police on the phone.
Shouts at a Funeral with his Eulogy said,
He bellows so loud he could wake up the dead.
With a Nativity Play his voice duly rearers,
As his scathing ‘Critique' sends the kids home in tears.
And a Hospital stay he was discharged in a week,
As the Patients got worse, for he Shouts in his sleep.
A Wedding Day ‘Toast' was completely a sham,
For startling the Bride, so her ‘Contractions' began.
Any Holiday Romance was eventually doomed,
His encouraging words were heard in the next room.
For this is the man that is called Daniel Sprout,
Migraines are the norm, with his Larynx about.