Tottering into Space Place Where lost Found Grow; Arrival Imminent Always Postponed, Probabilities Impossibilities Smiled Because Perception Makes no Matter Attitude Effort means, Belong Everyone Everything Roses Imagined Given For Doing Being Still seeker Seeking The life Beyond Seeing Feeling Tasting Hearing, Knowing Willing Happy as A parrot About to Bite.
Riffing off an Amazon review title, I so propitiously encountered.
A VERY OLD BOOK
Reader beware, herein lie Monsters of dastardly mien, You may be captured, captivated, Made prisoner for the space Of these many pages. I would not read it were I you, I did not, in truth, finding its words Many syllabic, poetic, strange To my modern eyes and sensibility. It seemed akin to Dickens, Emerson, Perhaps Poe and Thoreau, whom I thought all left in the distant past When what I read was for lessons, Not for pleasurable entertainment Initiated on my fancy whim or choice. No, dear reader, hear, hear, This tome is best left shoved To the back of the shelf, covered In ages, layers of sooty dust, Let it be, let it lie, you have no need Of it, nor would ever I, it is a burden To be left without perusal alone. Do not open the covers, do not see, What treasures I could not ascertain, Join me in my startling refrain This is a VERY OLD BOOK, Herein lie dastardly monsters Of highly developed vocabulary, Read At Your Own Dire Risk.
Pockets, Oh, Pockets, Why are you Always given Over to the males? Here we, Such genteel Females Are bound By weight of Purses! Maybe some Manmade Pleasure done To encumber Us in some Kind, way, For Lord knows What might occur Were both our Hands empowered. Even enlightened As these times are One may not Depend on Fashion, For pockets can Be often false, Others too Small To carry Much. Designers could Give Consideration To cost Of female Liberty lost.