Trip tick

I once had a match. It was dud,
So I threw it away with a thud.
But the whole house caught fire,
I was blown into a mire,
And thus ended up covered in mud.

There once was a blob in a bucket
And nobody wanted to suck it.
(Unless they were drunk)
For it smelt like a skunk
And unpleasantly shouted out etc.

This book is now too full of verse
Despite its great proseness at first
If you're caught unawares
By a poem — who cares?
Just ignore it (or taste it and burst).

It's raining outside and it's cold
And I'm feeling quite terribly old
I've broken my back
And my knees just went crack
And my nostrils are clogged up with mould.