#AmericanWriters
Unwillingly Miranda wakes, Feels the sun with terror, One unwilling step she takes, Shuddering to the mirror. Miranda in Miranda’s sight
Who is the happy husband? Why, in… 'Tis he who’s useless in the time… Who, asked to unclasp a bracelet o… Contrives to be utterly futile, fu… Or when a zipper nips his loved on…
There here are words of radical ad… Young man, be a snob. Yes, if you are in search of argum… Why I’ve gottem. Let the personnel managers differ;
There is one thing that ought to b… Which is that people ought to be t… I don’t mean the kind of apologies… Because I think that is sort of s… No, I object to one kind of apolo…
Cuckoos lead Bohemian lives, They fail as husbands and as wives… Therefore they cynically disparage Everybody else’s marriage.
Sure, deck your limbs in pants, Yours are the limbs, my sweeting. You look divine as you advance . .… Have you seen yourself retreating?
Celery, raw Develops the jaw, But celery, stewed, Is more quietly chewed.
Oh, weep for Mr. and Mrs. Bryan! He was eaten by a lion; Following which, the lion’s liones… Up and swallowed Bryan’s Bryaness…
Barber, barber, come and get me; Hairy torrents irk and fret me. Hair and hair again appears; And climbs like ivy round my ears. Hair across my collar gambols;
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.
Sure, deck your limbs in pants; Yours are the limbs, my sweeting. You look divine as you advance— Have you seen yourself retreating?
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…
When people aren’t asking question… They’re making suggestions And when they’re not doing one of… They’re either looking over your s… And then as if that weren’t enough…
Higgledy piggledy, my black hen, She lays eggs for gentlemen. Gentlemen come every day To count what my black hen doth la… If perchance she lays too many,
I objurgate the centipede, A bug we do not really need. At sleepy-time he beats a path Straight to the bedroom or the bat… You always wallop where he’s not,
