Little Donny Dactyl
Little Donny Dactyl Was just a little rhyme, Longed to be a sonnet Though he never had the time. - Met one day an Irish lass, "A limerick!", gossips cried, but poetry he set aside to make the minx his bride. He fell apart, and lost his art, Ambition duly died. He wedded her and bedded her And poetry denied. So practical they lived their lives Until the wise man sneezed. To please her little Irish heart, He stayed upon his knees. His dusty pen was never used, She nagged him , when and new, And then they had so many kids, They fought inside a shoe. Excepting one -- a funny kid-- who grew into a couplet, Who married well and then Produced a set of Smart quintuplets. From these a lovely sonnet Grew, old Donny's dream applied. She wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote -- was quoted up and wide. Life takes us all upon its back And makes of plans, a salad, Though it may take a thousand years, You, too, can birth a ballad. Written December 26th, 2001 © on Dec 26 2001 07:50 AM PST, Carole Dudley 0 • 7
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"Little Donny Dactyl..."