Two writers of poetry have died and find themselves at the pearly gate. St. Peter, reviewing their life histories, says:

“Gentlemen, I cannot allow admittance to either of you for your multiple indiscretions. However, I do notice here that you claim to be poets. As fate would have it, tomorrow is the feast day of St. Timothy, a great lover of poetry. If you were to write just four lines in his honor for reading at tommorow’s ceremonies, he might intercede on your behalf. However, considering the magnitude of your sins, I must make this task quite difficult. Because St. Timothy is best known for his conversion of the pagans of Timbuktu, so I require that the last word of your poem be the word TIMBUKTU.”

Now one of these poets was quite serious and spent the following night writing and rewriting. The next morning he presents the following to St. Peter, who finds it delightful and admits the writer immediately. It read as follows:

Timothy went to a desert land

To teach among the heathen clan

He joined a caravan passing through

It destination, TIMBUKTU

The second writer, however, was not so serious, had spent his last night drinking and carousing, had prepared nothing, and had, in fact, nearly forgotten entirely the required details, only that the poem must end in the word TIMBUKTU, the spelling of which he had no idea. Thinking fast on his feet, the result was as follows:

Tim and I a whoring went

And found three women in a tent

As they were three and we were two

I bucked one and TIM BUCKED TWO

Having good humor, it is suggested that St. Peter admitted the second poet as well. So, there’s hope for the rest of us poets, whether good or just quick.