#406
Shillelagh Dreams
It's been said to me face
We're a foul-smelling race;
It's been said to me face more than once.
Me response over beer
Is to initiate fear
In the hearts of those so inclined.
Now me wife has opined
That she finds it unkind
To respond in a threatening way.
So I wish them sweet bliss
As I send them a kiss
From the top o'me head to their nose
That rattles them down to their toes
And shatters that fine-smelling nose,
And shatters that fine-smelling nose.
#196
Knobby and Impaired
I used to have a sense of smell;
It's mostly gone, alas.
My nose just sits upon my face
Like dust upon green grass.
I used to have a sense of touch;
It too has disappeared.
Now my hands are burned and sore
Like steak that's just been seared.
Sight and sound still mostly work,
Though both need extra aid.
With sight it's new bifocals;
With sound it's soft then fade.
Senses are a marvelous gift,
Our way to know our world.
Old age however wipes them out,
And leaves us gnarled and knurled.
#89
Obit
Skunks are out in number:
You can smell them on the road,
As mating urges drive them
Into sexual overload.
Oops!
