At least when I get on the Boston train I have a good chance of landing in the South Station
And not in that part of the daily press which is reserved for victims of aviation.
Tag: flight new-england flying airplanes trains train massachusetts boston mbta south-station the-train
A family is a unit composed not only of children but of men, women, an occasional animal, and the common cold.
Ogden NashTag: men women family children cold pet
I dreamt that my hair was kempt. Then I dreamt that my true love unkempt it.
Ogden NashRemorse is a violent dyspepsia of the mind, But it is very difficult to treat because it cannot even be defined, Because everything is not gold that glisters and everything is not a tear that glistens, And one man's remorse is another man's reminiscence
Ogden NashTag: remorse reminiscence a-clean-conscience-never-relaxes
either you get eaten by a wolf today or else the shepherd saves you from the wolf so he can sell you to the butcher tomorrow
Ogden NashTag: sheep wolf butcher its-snug-to-be-smug shepher
He who has never tasted jail Lives well within the legal pale, While he who's served a heavy sentence Renews the racket, not repentance.
Ogden NashTag: prison crime repentance jail experience-to-let
Man is a victim of dope
In the incurable form of hope!
How easy for those who do not bulge
To not overindulge!
Tag: a-necessary-dirge i-m-a-stranger-here-myself-1938
Baclli swarm within my portals
Such as ne'r conceived by mortals,
But, bred by scientists,
Wise and hoary in some Olympian laboratory.
Bacteria as large as mice
With feet of fire and heads of ice,
Who never interrupt for slumber
Their stomping, elephantine rumba.
( From the poem--- " The Common Cold " )
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Unwillingly Miranda wakes,
Feels the sun with terror,
One unwilling step she takes,
Shuddering to the mirror.
Miranda in Miranda's sight
Is old and gray and dirty;
Twenty-nine she was last night;
This morning she is thirty.
Shining like the morning star,
Like the twilight shining,
Haunted by a calendar,
Miranda is a-pining.
Silly girl, silver girl,
Draw the mirror toward you;
Time who makes the years to whirl
Adorned as he adored you.
Time is timelessness for you;
Calendars for the human;
What's a year, or thirty, to
Loveliness made woman?
Oh, Night will not see thirty again,
Yet soft her wing, Miranda;
Pick up your glass and tell me, then--
How old is Spring, Miranda?
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