#AmericanWriters
There is a knocking in the skull, An endless silent shout Of something beating on a wall, And crying, “Let me out!” That solitary prisoner
When I remember bygone days I think how evening follows morn; So many I loved were not yet dead… So many I love were not yet born.
I find it very difficult to enthus… Over the current news. Just when you think that at least… And that is why I do not like the…
This one is entering her teens, Ripe for sentimental scenes, Has picked a gangling unripe male, Sees herself in a bridal veil, Presses lips and tosses head,
Celery, raw Develops the jaw, But celery, stewed, Is more quietly chewed.
In fourteen hundred and ninety-two… Someone sailed the ocean blue. Somebody borrowed the fare in Spa… For a business trip on the boundin… And to prove to the people, by act…
The ostrich roams the great Sahar… Its mouth is wide, its neck is nar… It has such long and lofty legs, I’m glad it sits to lay its eggs.
The wasp and all his numerous fami… I look upon as a major calamity. He throws open his nest with prodi… But I distrust his waspitality.
Go hang yourself, you old M.D.! You shall not sneer at me. Pick up your hat and stethoscope, Go wash your mouth with laundry so… I contemplate a joy exquisite
Be it a girl, or one of the boys, It is scarlet all over its avoirdu… It is red, it is boiled; could the…
Belinda lived in a little white ho… With a little black kitten and a l… And a little yellow dog and a litt… And a realio, trulio, little pet d… Now the name of the little black k…
There is something about a Martin… A tingle remarkably pleasant; A yellow, a mellow Martini; I wish I had one at present. There is something about a Martin…
My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky; Contrariwise, my blood runs cold When little boys go by. For little boys as little boys,
A mighty creature is the germ, Though smaller than a pachyderm. His customary dwelling place Is deep within the human race. His childish pride he often please…
Parsley Is gharsley.
