He succumbed to complications of a medical nature.
Skinny and small, quite angular in stature.
Whereas his lady friend was quite robust,
Although with not much padding, no bust.
“My dear,” she said, with a wild flourish,
“We must find more, for you to self-nourish.”
“Perhaps, for you, Cake and biscuits, with tea.”
“This heavenly combination, taken frequently,”
“Will build you up, become more of a man.”
“If anyone can do with help, you certainly can!”

And so, this chap, Henry Fortesque by name,
Embarked on this diet, with more of the same.
Chomping on biscuits, and other confection,
Cheerfully spraying crumbs in every direction.
For, to avoid being thought dull,
He would talk nonstop, with his mouth full.

And when it came to eating, a proper meal,
It was more of the same, the same deal.
To take a bite of something he’d open his mouth,
Long before fork was anywhere near his “north and south.”
This exposed saliva threads, or bubbles of spit.
Then he would extrude his tongue out quite a bit.
This provided a landing spot, mouth open wide,
Before being slowly pulled back inside.
Then there followed plenty of slow chewing,
Mouth open occasionally, to see what he’s doing.
To see the progress of mastication, no less,
All accompanied by slurping sounds, a real mess!
His napkin was spread out like a picnic rug.
What could his lady friend do but shrug, and shrug.

She would sing a French song in a coloratura style.
Everyone, but Henry, would run a mile.