If wishes were horses, would beggars
then ride…?
Ten dishes (four courses!) ate Eggers…?
Dave lied.
The knishes…? From sources Dave’s
keggers can’t hide.
(“Defish” is Ms. Morse…? Is she preggers…?
Whose bride…?)
Poet Poe pens nonsense verse. "Plus...phun," puns Uly, "I disburse." Its gamut runs from spam to worse. The po'sy posted...? Poe's diverse -- most, postcards from his universe, replies to grudges he must nurse. My summary...? Let me be terse: a mitzva, mostly. (Not a curse.)
No comments:
Post a Comment