No Belgian beer for me, my dear.
I give it up in Lent.
Once Pasch is past, I lose that fast:
I live it up in Ghent.
Moral:
No Buds for me.
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.)
Sunday, March 1, 2020
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