There once was a jester named Eldin.
Remember, his name was not Sheldon.
The latter's face was gray.
While Eldin pranked away.
Making the only thing heard a din.

When Eldin started out a jester.
Everything he did seemed to fester.
All the balloons he blew.
Did not brighten the mood.
His voice merely seemed to peel plaster.

Now Eldin had to write a poem.
So he could go to all and show 'em.
How this jester could rhyme.
And keep limerick time.
While always chasing away boredom.

Penned by my hand on the 19th of Mayan, in the year 451 AF.