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.)
Through the fence, between the curling flower spaces...
...three Harpwig FC wheels (NG) 'n' three-foot Cucu beetles (NG)...
...two strikers and a goalie from the recently relegated Yorkshire football club and several exceedingly tall insects imported from Amazonia -- and nary a one of 'em any good...
Now is the winter of our discontent...
...wet feet, no oro sun, thin cows in dirt...
...and my damn back is killin' me.
MAINTAIN UKRAINE! BEAT the RUSH: BEAT the RUSSIANS! DON'T GIVE UP: STAND UP! DON'T SHUT UP: SPEAK UP! DON'T DROP OUT: SPE...
