Funny how the stress of the semester makes the doggerel dry up. When was the last time I wrote some silly verses? To much nose-to-the-grindstoning impairs wordplay, but a long walk in the woods, with a breath of autumn blowing across my face, makes me want to bust some rhymes:
Plod, plod,
I lug my bod
straight up the hill,
across the sod,
over the creek,
and through the woods.
(This plodding does
my body good.)
Strain, strain,
I drag my brain
through syntax drear,
misspellings (pain),
non sequiturs,
lame arguments.
(A mental workout
quite intense.)
Snore, snore,
I dream of more
papers to read
(They're such a chore!),
more paths to walk,
rhythms to plod.
(To limber up
Both mind and bod.)
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