On a scale of 1 to 10,
Where zero is no pain,
1's a hint,
2's a little,
And 3 and 4 a tad more.
By 5 and 6 there's no mistake,
Our attention is fully fixed.
We're moaning a lot,
Happy we're not,
By 7 we're calling it quits.
By 8 we've certainly called for help
And we're heading out the door.
If by 9
We're not yet howling,
By 10 we surely are.
But wait, don't laugh, there's more to recount
Before you think me flippant.
I've a tale to share,
A true one I swear,
Of a man I once knew named Wanet.
His full name was Wanet Miller.
With my family he was quite familiar.
He went to school,
He played it cool.
He dreamed of becoming a doctor.
But then one night he went for a ride
With a friend on a dark windy road.
They missed a curve,
And began to swerve.
The car flipped and rolled off of a cliff.
Wanet was thrown from the vehicle.
He was taken in haste to a hospital.
The news was grim,
Numb every limb.
In his chamber his status was critical.
On a scale of 1 to 10,
How now did he register pain?
Adieu to his hopes,
Adieu to his dreams,
There's no possible way to discover.
Sending love