Tonight's December thirty-first, something is about to burst. The clock is crouching, dark and small, like a time bomb in the hall. Hark, it's midnight, children dear. Duck! Here comes another year!

Nobody agrees with anybody else anyhow, but adults conceal it and infants show it.

One bliss for which There is no match Is when you itch To up and scratch.

Bankers are just like anybody else, only richer

But children, hark! Your mother would rather, When you arrived, have been your father.

To love is an active verb.

The dog is man's best friend. He has a tail on one end. Up in front he has teeth. And four legs underneath.