26.3.07

Rumination on an aging pig

On the eve of the anniversary of the birth of the first to fall, best wishes to all beginning another loop through the oriental constellations and consternations of aging. Happy 36th in '07, Messrs. Howard, McBride, Stovin, Norman, Harding, and Isaac, from this fading scribe, one of the gang.

For a dozen beasts these sad tales be told,
Of time that flies in a blurred haze of fog.
A waning story three full cycles old
For the fleeting serpent and bygone dog.
There are cocks that shrivel, and tigers too.
The monkeys do slow, and the rats turn gray.
A fate none worse than the rabbits who stew,
Save the mare, to glue for wild tots at play.
Yea, Chronos frowns upon the porcine one,
With the sagging jowls and great fleshy hocks.
Freshly sprouted tufts where there once were none,
With the joints that creak and the hip that knocks.
But make no room yet on the morning plate.
Time still to wallow in the muck of Fate.

3 comments:

mark said...

Porkerific! Another classic breaded sonnet from the culinary bard, Mr. William Shakeandbakespeare.

Lee and Deanna said...

Lest the sonnet be not your cup of tea,
There are more ways to rhyme from I to thee.

First, for our most faithful and prolific commenter:

There once was a Smith at McGill,
Whose sequiturs were non per his will.
The entendres were funny,
If not downright punny,
And his gherkin of choice was the dill.

Then, in the interests of fraternal harmony:

There once was a lawyer downtown,
With colleagues who thought him a clown.
He won all the pools,
And laughed at those fools,
When slapping his legal briefs down.

Finally, to probe the market and maybe get a little pocket change for myself:

For a five-spot I'll pen you a verse,
With palindromes writ in reverse.
They're quick to conceive,
If your first name is Eve,
But less so if "Ernst" is your curse.

I also haiku
should there be no gaelic verse
in your Lucky Charms.

mark said...

A Limrickly-challenged young lad from Quebec,
through poetics decided to trek.
His pentameter broken,
and his iambs a’croakin’,
couldn’t figure out something witty to say for the last line.