The Poetry Marathon

Strange land it is where the Frownies roam
Dead serious, deadpan!
Humongous of girth, not a sliver of mirth
All guests to their town they scan!

Snicker Notsville, the town is named
They forbid all merriment
They stoop and walk with the weight of the world
Not a penny’s worth of entertainment!

They think they do earth-shaking work
And their glory all must sing
But sad they look, and sadder they feel
with no intention of ever changing!

Is there any point to this
sans snickers, chortles or guffaws?
It’s a heavy crown their heads do bear
Focussing on finding flaws!

It’s perhaps the quest they chase
for perfection is an elusive goal
It leads to stress and such a mess
And takes a heavy toll!

Some time if they spent in Cacchin Nation
practising fun regularly
Not missing even the slightest chance
To burst forth in utmost glee!

They’d surely find their troubles behind
And efficiency increased
Things would run smoothly for sure
If their hilarity was well-greased!