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Tho' train’d for the priesthood, I opt not to pray;
I’ve got, Reverentially, nothing to say.
I blab not of brisot or mohels – oy, vey!
I’ve got, Circumstantially, nothing to say.
I’ve penn’d not one scene of a long-promis'd play;
I’ve got, Penitentially, nothing to say.
Do I utter 'Aidan' or 'Anthony'…? Nay!
I’ve got, Quinntessentially, nothing to say.
I chat not of COVID…not after today;
I’ve got, Influentially, nothing to say.
I gab not at conf’rences, say what they may;
I’ve got, Exponentially, nothing to say.
I jaw not at umpires (a loathsome lot, they);
I’ve got, Referentially, nothing to say.
Of suicide…? Nope! But let’s call it a day;
I’ve got, Existentially, nothing to say.
Congratulations! You excel at nothing. Nothing to Say and None of the Below are two of your best. (How fulfilled I feel now that I know the plural of bris.)
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