Poetry - Chaucer got a Splinter in his eye

Chaucer had a splinter in his eye

And it hurt thusly:

A lot, searing, pointedly

It didn’t affect his hand

He could still copy everybody else’s stuff

But it was a bit fuzzy

He kept rubbing his good eye

As he wrote with yous and thous – personal thous

And the tears ran down his other ruddy check

How terrible it must have been

How weighty Geoffrey

To be the representative of a whole generation

With a splinter in your eye

And an itch on his bum, the left side

He got ink on his trousers every time he scratched

Ink on his fingers – he put in his mouth

Surely poisonous

As his eye throbbed

And tears splashed on his manuscript

How utterly utterly burdensome Geoffrey

To carry on such an iconic yet useless work