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From: Frank Anthony
Not a Witsling ... but I thought it might appeal.
Like beasts of burden pace we forth each day Each to his own task and mindless hours And barely pause to note that beautious ray Which falls from Heaven's Orb betwixt the showers Thus blind, o'er years, we tread beneath our soles A treasure to outshine our base desires Thence, return each night bereft and cold And there bemoan our insufficient fires. Ah, that we might, in passing, raise our eyes To meet that soaring Orb which glints above For then should we all earthly things despise Transported hence in all-encompassed Love.
Thus, dear Poet, gaze upward from thy task And find thy true Muse; Glory, all unmask'd.
From: Gigi Burgdorf
When I do count the clock that tells the time
I wish that it was time to eat my lunch.
My stomach rumbles with each second past,
Everyone here -- but me -- is on some fast!