When I remember bygone days I think how evening follows morn So many I loved were not yet dead, So many I love were not yet born.
When there are monsters there are miracles.
The turtle lives 'twixt plated decks Which practically conceal its sex I think it clever of the turtle In such a fix to be so fertile.
The burnt child, urged by rankling ire, Can hardly wait to get back at the fire.
Man is a victim of dope in the incurable form of hope.
The doctor gets you when you're born, The preacher, when you marry, And the lawyer lurks with costly clerks If too much on you carry. Professional men, they have no cares; Whatever happens, they get theirs.