He once had been a skinny boy
Who always watched his weight.
He refused all second helpings
And often left food on his plate.

His family and friends were a touch concerned
By his small appetite,
They exclaimed, "But you're a growing boy!
Please have another bite!"

He received dinner invitations,
Was offered cake and bread and meat,
By all dismayed acquaintances
Who wanted him to eat.

He began to feel annoyed
By all the nagging and the yelping,
So to satisfy everyone he announced,
"I'll have another helping."

A generous amount of goulash was served
And some broth to quench his thirst,
When he suddenly realised he enjoyed the feeling
Of being about to burst.

He drank some soup,
He ate some more,
He guzzled his food
As never before.

From that day on, he lived only for mealtimes
And had numerous snacks in between;
The amount of food he demolished daily
Was becoming rather obscene.

He would shove whole fistfuls of food in his mouth
And his need for a feed was obsessive,
His friends would say with concern and dismay,
"That twelfth helping's a little excessive!"

It was after he'd ravaged fifteen pork chops
And thirteen legs of mutton,
That his Mother realised with a horrified shriek,
"By Jove! My son's a glutton!"

Apprehension mounted when they offered him food,
And he was invited to dinner no more,
For no-one had enough food in the cupboard,
And they feared he'd not fit through the door.

Alas, by his twenty-third drumstick,
He was prematurely smote,
When in his eagerness to devour it,
It got stuck in his throat.

His epiglottis gurgled,
With paroxysms of fear
And in his fright and terror
He let one slip out the rear.

It was however his very last breath;
His family wailed with all their might,
and lived unto death with a guilty regret
For making him eat another bite.