The week was a tough one for poor, stressed Ella.
The things she went through were like a downbeat novella.
First came the rain as she lost her umbrella,
Then big tummy pains caused by bad salmonella.
Her house was a state, like a run down favela,
She felt achy and old like Nelson Mandela.
Her workload was more frustrating than a broken patella,
She just wanted putting down, like rabid Old Yeller.
But before giving up and drinking a whole crate of Stella,
She received a call from her handsome, warm fella.
He said: “Listen to me, poor, stressed Ella,
You’re as beautiful as freshly bloomed prunella.
Things may look tough, my sweet Cinderella,
But you’ll get through this, and shine like Capella.”
© Carl Burkitt 2013