Bad Cold by Shel Silverstein

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  This cold is too much for my shortsleeve. Go get me a Kleenex--and fast. I sniffle and wheeze And I'm ready to sneeze And I don't know how long I can last.... Atchoo--it's to wet for a kleenex, So bring me handkerchief, quick. It's--atchoo--no joke, Now the handkerchief's soaked. Hey, a dish towel just might do the trick. Atchoo--it's too much for bath towel. There never has been such a cold. I'll be better off With that big tablecloth, No--bring me the flag off the pole. Atchoo--bring the clothes from the closet, Atchaa--get the sheets from the bed, The drapes off the window, The rugs off the floor To soak up this cold in my head. Atchoo-- hurry down to the circus And ask if they'll lend you the tent. You say they said yes? Here it comes--Lord be blessed-- Here it is--Ah-kachoooo--there it went.

Happy Birthday, William Shakespeare

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"Alas, poor cupcake. I knew him Horatio! A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy."

The Bard was born April 23, 1564 and died April 23, 1616. He wrote, “With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.” ("Merchant of Venice," Act 1, Scene 1).

Guildenstern ponders, "The only beginning is birth and the only end is death – if you can't count on that, what can you count on?" (Tom Stoppard)




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