Uly Poe pens dogg'rel verse.
"'Tis fun," hums Uly, "I disburse."
The gamut runs from bad to worse.
The matter treated...? Quite diverse --
most, postcards from his universe,
replies to grudges he must nurse.
My summary...? Let me be terse:
a blessing largely. (Not a curse.)
"...Yo' is my woman..." Porgy intones to Gershwin's Bess. Woe is my yeoman. Medieval farming sure's a mess. Moral: Life's quite hard on Catfish Row. Fiefs...? E'en harderrows to hoe. * * * * * Blind by May. This year's be unlike others' Junes. Mined by Bley.* Ms. Carla's "borrowed" all my tunes. * Carla Bley is an US jazz composer Moral: Bedimm'd be days of him who dares to misappropriate my airs.'' * * * * * "Nine o'clock an' all is well." The town crier. Ropes le roi...then sits a spell. The crown tier. Moral: 'Twill take a sisal to truss King Faisal.* * Who's donn'd a keski featuring a twill woven of sisal, perhaps...?