At this juncture it has come to pass That a colleague of mine has no class. Though he rambles all day, Even worse, I would say, Is his perfume is "Essence of ___!"
Writing lim’ricks is more than just luck:
It takes patience and skill not to suck.
So when taking the time
For a four-letter rhyme,
One should certainly use the word “darn.”
I’ll never be
A knight in armor
With a sword in hand,
Or a kamikaze fighter;
Don’t count on me
To storm the barricades
And take a stand,
Or hold my ground;
You’ll never see
Any scars or wounds –
I don’t walk on coals,
I won’t walk on water:
I am no prince,
I am no saint,
I am not anyone’s wildest dream,
But I can stand behind
And be someone to fall back on.
When your heart has been broken in twain, Feeling nothing but sorrow and pain, Be a bump on a log, Stuff it all in your blog. Really, who wants to hear you complain?
Should the blogger keep strict to his text, With his follower reading what's next Unabash-ed does find Speaking plainly his mind Does profoundly exclaim "oversexed!"
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Blow, blow, thou winter wind.
Thou art not so unkind
As man’s ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude. Continue reading “As You (dis)Like It”
Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
And looked at the world, and descended;
I have come by the highway home,
And lo, it is ended.
The leaves are all dead on the ground,
Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one
And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow,
When others are sleeping.
And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
No longer blown hither and thither;
The last lone aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch-hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek,
But the feet question ‘Whither?’
Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?