An alphabet. A bunting. A blog.
And some utter randomness.
Monday, November 5, 2007
M is for Marmoset
A marmoset perched on my shoulder Within minutes became even bolder. He slipped under my shirt, Which was less of a flirt, More of monkey-avoiding-the-colder.
What a marvelous life you must lead To have monkeys who play and then plead For warmth from the chill. It shows such good will And trust. What a wonder indeed!
No one can outlimerick the master (I wish I could write these lines faster). Now I’m stuck on line three With paid work calling me! So here is the final word: vaster.
To try to outlimerick the master Can end with naught but disaster. It’s not writing with speed But quick skill that you need. Write it slowly but think it up faster.
At lim'ricks I'm hardly an ace; But one thing I've learned: It's no race. I'm more of a tortoise When playing this sport. Is It wrong to prefer second place?
Ah, now that we're past the enabling constraint of the limerick, I can comment again (so so busy!). I'm unbelievably impressed with the lot of you, limerick or no. (But the limericks...fantastic.)
D: Thanks, and email is on the letter...if you misplace that before you find the address, lemme know.
10 comments:
What a marvelous life you must lead
To have monkeys who play and then plead
For warmth from the chill.
It shows such good will
And trust. What a wonder indeed!
No one can outlimerick the master
(I wish I could write these lines faster).
Now I’m stuck on line three
With paid work calling me!
So here is the final word: vaster.
To try to outlimerick the master
Can end with naught but disaster.
It’s not writing with speed
But quick skill that you need.
Write it slowly but think it up faster.
At lim'ricks I'm hardly an ace;
But one thing I've learned: It's no race.
I'm more of a tortoise
When playing this sport. Is
It wrong to prefer second place?
Ok, I'm not going to play.
I am just going to say,
This made my day.
My thinking is slow like molasses
I’ll never get rich like Onassis
So no comment shall I
Even attempt to try
My sweets don’t appeal to the masses.
(Secret message to I. Bunting because I misplaced her e-mail address: "Nice pix!")
the enabling constraint: not my thing, as I found out, and not I.B's either I fancy. But that shaman man he thrives on't.
The "enabling constraint"? Whazzat?
Ah, now that we're past the enabling constraint of the limerick, I can comment again (so so busy!). I'm unbelievably impressed with the lot of you, limerick or no. (But the limericks...fantastic.)
D: Thanks, and email is on the letter...if you misplace that before you find the address, lemme know.
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