Had we but world enough, and time, This BS, lady, were no crime. HEre in a BS lover's nook We could spend years upon each kook! A century to random language loose, And one for every poem by Bearded Bruce! Millennia we'd slowly gladly see Pass in the parsing of young Rapparree ANd then a thousand years or even two Examining the utterances of Gnu. But at my back, like some forgotten bomb I hear the rustling, harping voice of Mom Urging the days and posts from every mind To leave BS upon the sands of Time. Henry Whatsworth Widerman Centuries in Collapse Armageddon Press, Wistful-on-Occasion, 2001
|