This one is entering her teens,
Ripe for sentimental scenes,
Has picked a gangling unripe male,
Sees herself in a bridal veil,
Presses lips and tosses head,

There is one thing that ought to b
Which is that people ought to be t
I don’t mean the kind of apologies
Because I think that is sort of s
No, I object to one kind of apolo

Behold the duck.
It does not cluck.
A cluck it lacks.
It quacks.
It is specially fond

A mighty creature is the germ,
Though smaller than a pachyderm.
His customary dwelling place
Is deep within the human race.
His childish pride he often please

The ant has made himself illustrio
Through constant industry industri
So what?
Would you be calm and placid,
If you were full of formic acid?

Candy
Is dandy,
But liquor
Is quicker

One thing that literature would be
Would be a more restricted employm
metaphor.
Authors of all races, be they Gre
Can’t seem just to say that anythi

Praise the spells and bless the ch
I found April in my arms.
April golden, April cloudy,
Gracious, cruel, tender, rowdy;
April soft in flowered languor,

My fellow man I do not care for.
I often ask me, What’s he there f
The only answer I can find
Is, Reproduction of his kind.
If I’m supposed to swallow that,

I objurgate the centipede,
A bug we do not really need.
At sleepy-time he beats a path
Straight to the bedroom or the bat
You always wallop where he’s not,