I sing no idle songs of dalliance… No dreams Elysian inspire my rhym… I have no Celia to enchant my lay… No pipes of Pan have set my heart… I am no wordsmith dripping gems di…

As I sat by my baby’s bed That’s open to the sky, There fluttered round and round my… A radiant butterfly. And as I wept —of hearts that ach…

Bob Briggs went in for Government… And helps to run the State; Some day they say he’ll represent His party in debate: But with punk politics his job,

Enthusiastic was the crowd That hailed him with delight; The wine was bright, the laughter… And glorious the night. But when at dawn he drove away

Of bosom friends I’ve had but sev… Despite my years are ripe; I hope they’re now enjoying Heave… Although they’re not the type; Nor, candidly, no more am I,

My poem may be yours indeed In melody and tone, If in its rhythm you can read A music of your own; If in its pale woof you can weave

One day the Great Designer sought His Clerk of Birth and Death. Said he: “Two souls are in my tho… to whom I gave life—breath. I deemed my work was fitly done,

Said President MacConnachie to T… “We ought to have a piper for our… Yon squakin’ saxophone gives me th… I’m sick of jazz, I want to hear… “Alas! it’s true,” said Tam MacC…

Ruins in Rome are four a penny, And here along the Appian Way I see the monuments of many Esteemed almighty in their day. .… Or so he makes me understand —

Of all the men I ever knew The tinkingest was Uncle Jim; If there were any chores to do We couldn’t figure much on him. He’d have a thinking job on hand,

My Daddy used to wallop me for ev… “Its takes a hair—brush back,” sai… And still to—day I scarce can loo… Without I want in sympathy to pat… For Dad declared with unction: “S…

‘Twas in a village in Lorraine Whose name I quite forget, I found I needfully was fain To buy a serviette. I sought a shop wherein they sell

What was the blackest sight to me Of all that campaign? A naked woman tied to a tree With jagged holes where her breast… Rotting there in the rain.

Up from the evil day Of wattle and of woad, Along man’s weary way Dark Pain has been the goad. Back from the age of stone,

Said she: 'Although my husband Ji… Is with his home content, I never should have married him, We are so different. Oh yes, I know he loves me well,