It doesn’t always have to be a limerick. Who knew? / That’s now the unfortunate Bookworm’s view. / I mean he struggles with rhyme, / Never mind the scansion and time! / Ah, he’ll just leave it Ish, that’s the smart thing to do.
Thank you my good friend. As Mark Twain once observed, “the details of my death have been greatly exaggerated.” Even so, it’s good to be seen. (Much better than being “viewed,” at any rate.)
There are a number of theories. / But the most common among these, / Is the scheme used to dupe us / Is the sly Canis Lupus / Donning the apparel of the meek Ovis Aries! ;>)
Selling sweets door-to-door can be tricky / Especially when your wares tend to get sticky. / In the heat of the day / They just melt away, / Along with your profits when the consumers tend to be picky.
Consider our young Marne of Killarney / Who’s beau was the strapping lad Carney. / But when Carney was seen / Romancing another colleen, / She gave him the gate, fed up with his unfaithful blarney!
And when our plucky young miss / Decided no more of this, / She turned to young Mr. O’Conner / Who literally doted upon her. / So she smilingly scored it as a “hit after a miss.”
Though I’m as old and as ugly as a Trilobite, / I’m still in the ring! I’m still in the fight. / I’ll keep right on just ploddin’ along / Until I hear them ring that final gong, / When, and not before, The Bookworm will say his final “Good Night.”
I’ve had a few more things come up that needed to be dealt with. But, “with a l’il bit o’ luck” (as my old friend Alfred P. Doolittle used to say), I think I’m on the mend. I’m sorry if I caused any concern, my friend.
Art appeals to what “we feel,” not what “we know.” / And today, it’s what we feel we take to the polls – when we go. / Critical thinking is eschewed / When demagoguery is pursued. / But I’m an old idealist, so what do I know? ;>)
Her: “There’s eggshell, and buttercream, and ecru, and ivory . . . .”
Him: “There’s white, white, white, and very white.”