Friday Poem
© 8 Mar 2013 Luther Tychonievich
Licensed under Creative Commons: CC BY-NC-ND 3.0
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Friday Poem

An exploration of why we ought to be grateful for weathermen’s smajlics.


“You see it’s like a portmanteau—there are two meanings packed up into one word.” —Humpty Dumpty (Through the Looking Glass, chapter VI).

Untitled Poem

In autmer, as the railevs fell
  with splasles on the sidewalks there,
An early winall wind blew fell
  and wivil portents everywhere.

Then hero weathermen arose
  with solsty faces drawn with feage,
And espellcations cast in prose
  that spoke of lighn’s more blissome miege.

Fear not the chushing seathens, ye
  who loathe the winall breezes’ breath,
For weathermen spast woft that we
  might froljoy with no feap of death.

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