one chap (no churl)
dons skirts of pearl;
tight folds, unfurling,
form a curl;
he twirls, they swirl.
If me, I’d hurl;
but dervish, whirling,
gets the girl.
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
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