Songs in C?
Sung gleefully
since singers
were pre-natal.
Tunes in F? The
favored clef
of yod’lers in
the cradle.
C-sharp rounds
are rife with sounds
which summon up
-weiss, edel-.
Lays in A,
chanteuses say,
go dandy with a
dreidel.
Duets in B?
“The master key, “
claims Hansel’s
sister Gretel.
Hymns in G flow
gracefully,
like syrup from
Mom’s ladle.
Sing airs in D?
No sir! Not me!
(Though
crooners in Kuwail’ll.)
Chansons in E? De corps esprit!
But strains in
A flat? Fatal!
Poet Poe pens nonsense verse. "...plus phun," puns Uly, "I disburse." Its gamut runs from spam to worse. The matter 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.)
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Hampdengrams
(Verses and images to come: a work in progress.) HAMPDEN DAMP HEN DAPHNE M. MEAN PHD DAPH 'N’ ME H, P, M AND E …AND HEMP Bandid...
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PWWL is pleased to acknowledge the participation of friend-of-blog JD in creating this item. Collaboration in name, collaboration in pro... -
Sphynx's riddle...? Snare for fools: Pyramids at Giza. Pepperoni plopp'd near tools: gear -- amid sat pizza. Moral: T...
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