Farewell Kathy

© 01\29\2002 Dennis L. Pickering Kathy, this is our farewell To the chiefly gracious Bell Of the ball we know so well All at SIX think you are swell. We’ll miss all activities You’ve planned with no brevity. For us people here within Building SIX beside the din. On the boulevard of Speer We have thought of you as dear You kept us from cliffs so sheer With your effervescent leer Leer is not the correct word, It describes but is absurd. Which you’ve never given us Even when we rode the bus. To the bingo that you call You cause us to have a ball. There within your welcome hall We’ll miss Kathy who’s not tall. Kathy too is like the fox Shrewd, in and out of the box. Which you cannot ever lock Even when you’re listening Bock. Building SIX does think you’re great, Like you!  Don’t slip from our grate. Will make some of us irate Letting you slip from our plate. You’re the effervescent one Who has been the willing gun To defend us in the sun On the track on which you’ve run. Kathy is a comely lass You might think those words are crass. To us who are older still Kathy is a welcome pill. We will miss you, that’s a fact Though some of us may be cracked. ’Cause the blossom that you are Helps let you look from afar. At those things you don’t agree Should be closer to our tree. Though they’re not things that are wee You attack just like a bee. Who does only know team-work Circumnavigates the jerk. Triggers actions to not perk Though you know they need to lurk. Just within the consciousness Can wear on our outer dress. Actions sometimes cause a mess And make us live in duress. That is all I have to say. Don’t suppose it makes your day You will stay upon your way And mostly you will be gay. Gayness in the happy sense That you keep within your fence And demand no recompense From those ones who can be dense I just seem to rattle on. Incessantly until dawn Here I sit trying to think Have no more lines from the sink. That concludes this little piece. You may show it to your niece. Just to show of how you’re thought Your leaving does make us wrought. FINIS Written February 1st, 2002 © on Jan 31 2002 07:22 PM PST, Dennis Pickering   17 • 0 • 1