encounters hist’ry’s greatest rout...?
Trump! Donald Trump...? Donald Trump!
Put out to pasture...? Not in doubt.
At last that gonif's out o' clout.
Rump. Ta, null’d Rump...? Ta, null'd Rump!
Moral:
...and freakin' stay out!
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.)
Thursday, May 7, 2020
School for Connochaetes
Who'll train to tutor wildebeests…?
(Not crusty nuns. Not lusty priests.)
Hey, St. Jean-Baptiste de la Salle:
please lay on us Le Gnu Normale!
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