Numbers never add up on this balance sheet.
Poetry requires a special diet.
Like a year has seasons.
As for common sense, there’s a dearth.
He’s daft without Sancho Pancha.
Not only can we no longer ride our favorite carousel horse,we’ve also completely lost control of…
It’s not always pretty when you write a ditty.
Rhythm finds words when words find rhythm.
And knowing when to say when
Here within, the fable and the prosody both went ptooey.