Ice Cream: klazomania
Doyle probably had just misheard—
It all can be so difficult, The Word,
Confusing as an unknown bird.
And so when someone cried, “Ice cream!”
He thought that he had heard “I scream.”
To Doyle, it was his dearest dream—
The answer to receiving treats
Was simple: Nothing ever beats
A scream (among his greater feats).
Thereafter, Doyle would simply yell
For what he craved—and what the hell:
It seemed to work so very well.
Until those men arrived—in white—
And dragged him off into the night
And took him to a room so bright
Where he now lives—with pads on walls.
Where he hears voices in the halls.
And no one answers when he calls.