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.