#AmericanWriters
The song of canaries Never varies, And when they’re moulting They’re pretty revolting.
Who is the happy husband? Why, in… 'Tis he who’s useless in the time… Who, asked to unclasp a bracelet o… Contrives to be utterly futile, fu… Or when a zipper nips his loved on…
They tell me that euphoria is the… well, today I feel euphorian, Today I have the agility of a Gre… Victorian. Yes, today I may even go forth wi…
One way to be very happy is to be… For then you can buy orchids by th… And yet at the same time People d… Because it’s very funny But somehow if you’re rich enough…
This is a song to celebrate banks, Because they are full of money and… you hear is clinks and clanks, Or maybe a sound like the wind in… Which is the rustling of the thous…
Higgledy piggledy, my black hen, She lays eggs for gentlemen. Gentlemen come every day To count what my black hen doth la… If perchance she lays too many,
So Thomas Edison Never drank his medicine; So Blackstone and Hoyle Refused cod-liver oil; So Sir Thomas Malory
There is something about a Martin… A tingle remarkably pleasant; A yellow, a mellow Martini; I wish I had one at present. There is something about a Martin…
Bound to your bookseller, leap to… Deluge your dealer with bakshish a… Lean on the counter and never say… Wodehouse and Wooster are with us… Flourish the fish-slice, your butt…
Children aren’t happy with nothing… And that’s what parents were creat…
My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky; Contrariwise, my blood runs cold When little boys go by. For little boys as little boys,
I didn’t go to church today, I trust the Lord to understand. The surf was swirling blue and whi… The children swirling on the sand. He knows, He knows how brief my s…
Some people, and it doesn’t matter whether they are paupers or millionaires, Think that anything they have is the best in the world just because it is theirs. If they happen to own a ...
The solitary huntsman No coat of pink doth wear, But midnight black from cap to spu… Upon his midnight mare. He drones a tuneless jingle
Song of the Open Road I think that I shall never see A billboard as lovely as a tree. Perhaps unless the billboards fall… I’ll never see a tree at all.
