The world is so
full of a number of things...
of old cedar's and cypress’s annual rings;
of the roads to Morocco with Dots, Bobs and Bings;
of your governing folkmoots, your Icelandic Tings...
of those jubilant feelings each holiday brings;
of most Klingons -- detach'd -- and the Klingon who clings;
Francis Albert Sinatra’s “A-ring-ding-a-ding-ding!”s;
of Flash Gordons and Zarkovs, of Merciless Mings...
of the Irishmen’s ceilis, the Scots’ Highland Flings;
of your Brandy Manhattans, your Singapore Slings;
of brass cymbals with sizzles, gourd zithers with “zings”;
of your southern fried chickens, your barbecued wings...
of spondoolicks, of wampum, of cash that “ka-ching!”s;
Feinman's O-rings, your key rings and other odd blings;
of the Stones and the Beatles, the Elton's and Stings;
of black thespians – Sidneys, Tayes, Denzels and Vings...
of the Japanese Yukis, the Chinese Beijings;
of taut tom turkeys’ necks your great-grandmother wrings…
of I Chings with no strings, of Hong Kongs and Pekings;
of Premier Deng Xiaoping and the songs that Deng sings...
I am sure we should all be as happy as kings.
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