A riddle for you,
this riddle from me.
A connection of actions,
of which there are three.
The first happens almost nightly.
When I refuse to rest my head.
Why do I avoid this like the plague?
Is it because I'm practically dead?
Then in the early morning,
I rise alongside the sun.
What starts off slow and sluggish,
obliterates stress into fun!
I must then clean myself,
in the early dirty hour.
For some reason that little knob
requires determined power.
So you've read or heard my challenge.
And here's your quizzical quest.
What mindset connects these actions?
What are they? Venture a guess.
Wednesday, February 24, 2016
Monday, February 8, 2016
Seamus McFingerbone
Well, this lil' tale doesn’t end well for Seamus the famous finger bone:
He set sail with a dream and a pail. Spuds on his mind, he stuck to the grind... his seeds were ne'er sown!
A wee Irish boy, taters were his toy. The life and strife o' everyone. A famine came with hunger claimed, well, dammed near everyone!
The lad worked on a boat, and kept it afloat on the way to Italy. Seeds in his pocket secured in a locket prayed for land in Sicily.
He set sail with a dream and a pail. Spuds on his mind, he stuck to the grind... his seeds were ne'er sown!
The man worked in Cortona on a field with the fauna. Saved his coins for later, see? Never drank whiskey, nor got too frisky, would see his potatoes be!
He set sail with a dream and a pail. Spuds on his mind, he stuck to the grind... his seeds were ne'er sown!
A geezer would, and finally could, plant his locket seeds to be. But the seeds didn’t grow, their stems didn’t show. Oh, poor, poor Seamus see!
So that was the tale that didn’t end well. Oh, poor Seamus Fingerbone!
300 years passed when an Irish lass found Fingerbone’s finger bone. It shook when they touched, wanting taters so much… long last a taste for Fingerbone!
He set sail with a dream and a pail. Spuds on his mind, he stuck to the grind... his seeds were ne'er sown!
A wee Irish boy, taters were his toy. The life and strife o' everyone. A famine came with hunger claimed, well, dammed near everyone!
The lad worked on a boat, and kept it afloat on the way to Italy. Seeds in his pocket secured in a locket prayed for land in Sicily.
He set sail with a dream and a pail. Spuds on his mind, he stuck to the grind... his seeds were ne'er sown!
The man worked in Cortona on a field with the fauna. Saved his coins for later, see? Never drank whiskey, nor got too frisky, would see his potatoes be!
He set sail with a dream and a pail. Spuds on his mind, he stuck to the grind... his seeds were ne'er sown!
A geezer would, and finally could, plant his locket seeds to be. But the seeds didn’t grow, their stems didn’t show. Oh, poor, poor Seamus see!
So that was the tale that didn’t end well. Oh, poor Seamus Fingerbone!
300 years passed when an Irish lass found Fingerbone’s finger bone. It shook when they touched, wanting taters so much… long last a taste for Fingerbone!
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