"We thought we smelt some madeleines
ala Les Temps Perdu.
We whiff'd once more and...Zut! Alors!
We whiff'd once more and...Zut! Alors!
'Twere more oDOR de loo.
(The loo near Speakers' Corner leaks;
still, patrons stand in queue.)"
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.)
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