Pick, Pick, Pick: rhinotillexomania
He picked his nose from dawn to dark.
He picked it in the city park,
Disgusting every dove and lark.
He picked all throughout his life.
He sometimes used a pocketknife—
No wonder that he had no wife!
Before he died, he thought a lot
About a cemetery plot—
And so he picked a decent spot.
But no one came to visit (sigh)
To see the spot where he did lie.
A picture that makes grown men cry.
Our story ends--and so it goes:
In life we suffer many blows—
Especially if we pick the nose!