Well, Fred, how are the sheep?
Fine so far, nary a peep.
What’s that in your lunch today?
It’s supposed to be leftover soufflé,
But after four hours, it’s sort of pourable.
Hmm. Guess soufflé isn’t portable.
After the week we’ve all had, I thought we deserved a nice bucolic eclogue.
Bad Poem-a-Day August is winding down, only six left to go. There’s that sonnet that I’d like to finish when I can concentrate, and who knows what else? Not even me.