So: spoke
Zarathustra? No! 'Mum' was the word.
And since nada Z uttered, 'twas nada we heard.
Proving overly close-mouthed, as still as the grave,
Z vouchsafed us no greeting, not even a wave.
So: spoke
Zarathuse-? Nope! I’d deemed the dude dumb.
Z turned tacitly tongue-tied: the word remained 'mum.'
Like his bouche (biding buttoned), his pie hole snapped
shut.
All his channels of intercommunique? Cut!
So: spoke Zara-? Nossir!
Not even a whisper
(preventing us learning if Z were a lisper).
Z's soundlessness smacked of the uber-laconic:
no sonorous speeches; no spiels ultrasonic.
So: heard we Z sounding
the word of God? Nein!
Nor no word of man neither. We'd nothing, in fine,
to show for our harking, our straining of ears.
Zoroastrianism's gone soft, it appears.
PlaysWellWithLetters is a blogorrheal notebook of Nonsense in rhyming metres accompanying often-inconsequential sequencial graphics all issuing from the hands and/or minds of Sgt. N. ("Jim") Smithe-Magee, amateur author/illustrator whose several books are available online from Politics & Prose Bookstore under the nom de charade Ulysses Poe.
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