Friday's Whims of the Time Traveler 16.0: February 7th, 2007
Wit
by Belinda Roddie
The man with the silver tongue is growing old
And jealous of the man with the tongue of gold
But even more so of the girl whose wit
Desires no precious metal in her mouth
He reads his books and lets the silver flutter
Words, words, smooth and thick like butter
But they slip away into dust upon the table
The man is by far out of practice
And then he hears the news:
The gold-witted man died while singing the blues
He pissed off a thug with sharp and petty lashes
He deserved his thrashes
The girl has heard the story, too
She rises from her chair to the window
Lets the breeze enter the room
And says, "Life is good."
The work you see here has only been slightly modified for mechanics and errors since February 7th, 2007.
by Belinda Roddie
The man with the silver tongue is growing old
And jealous of the man with the tongue of gold
But even more so of the girl whose wit
Desires no precious metal in her mouth
He reads his books and lets the silver flutter
Words, words, smooth and thick like butter
But they slip away into dust upon the table
The man is by far out of practice
And then he hears the news:
The gold-witted man died while singing the blues
He pissed off a thug with sharp and petty lashes
He deserved his thrashes
The girl has heard the story, too
She rises from her chair to the window
Lets the breeze enter the room
And says, "Life is good."
The work you see here has only been slightly modified for mechanics and errors since February 7th, 2007.
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