My sadly lad, badly rad, mad bad Dad:
Sad, definitely. One word - trainspotting.
Lad, for sure the heart of one - goal potting.
Bad, never. Except "I've missed the train" fad.
Rad? You're pushing it! Embarrass-me-able!
Mad, depends. Unfathomable jokes, mind!
Bad, not to me. Anger, but always kind.
Dad? I think that one's unavoidable.
Ok, maybe I was being too cruel
to him. This is the part of the poem
when I am not meant to grumble or groan.
Sympathise with him - supporting me! Mule.
But mules do not love their master's hands,
a whip crack, driving on, to distant lands
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