If There's Nothing To Do About It-Then Do Nothing Poem by Bryan Taplits

A cheeky man there was one day
He spat a wad at me,
It missed- and it spent in the wind-
Fortunate-ly.
I was a bit outraged
I thought of pounding him,
But then I thought again-
and thought
"Perhaps, he's just witless,
and, maybe, just a little dim."

So I let him pass me on the way
And at my back I heard his spattered "ptooey",
And the man he spat on charged at him-
Like pigs charge towards the word "Sooey."
Unbeknownst to the man who charged
The spitter had a knife,
He wielded it at the one who charged at him
And brusquely took his life.

There is no moral to this tale
Of this intrigue that became bespattered-
Except, perhaps, to add this epitaph:
Overlook some things because-
All things really do not matter.