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Gone Writing

Gone Writing: The Poems of Moore on Sunday

Peter Moore
Foreword by Don Shelby
Copyright Date: 1999
Edition: NED - New edition
Pages: 96
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  • Book Info
    Gone Writing
    Book Description:

    At the end of his weekly news-in-review program, Moore on Sunday beloved WCCO-TV newsanchor Dave Moore often signed off by reciting a poem. These poems, composed by Moore’s son Peter and collected here for the first time, offer a fresh and funny take on the common and not-so-common stuff of our everyday lives. Reminiscent of Ogden Nash and Tom Lehrer, with a dash of Dr. Seuss, Peter Moore’s verse captures the essence of his father’s wit, common sense, honesty, and warmth.

    eISBN: 978-0-8166-5288-4
    Subjects: Language & Literature

Table of Contents

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  1. Front Matter
    (pp. i-iv)
  2. Table of Contents
    (pp. v-viii)
  3. Foreword
    (pp. ix-xii)

    Dave Moore loved the word. He loved it spoken in prose, sung in a voice, and rhymed in lines of poetry. During the thirty-two he anchored the news for WCCO-TY,he spoke more words to more Minnesotans than anyone ever had or ever will. He chose the words carefully, and he talked us through some very tough times. He told us of Kennedy’s death and the deaths of our sons and our neighbors’ sons in Vietnam. He got us through the struggles for civil rights, and he explained to us the deceit of Watergate. He celebrated our children’s achievements on the...

  4. Preface
    (pp. xiii-2)
    Peter Moore
  5. A Great Winter Sport
    (pp. 5-5)

    The best part of winter, the best part by far,

    Is kicking those ice chunks that form on your car.

    No matter our ages or races or genders.

    We all enjoy booting that slush off our fenders.

    It’s deeply fulfilling, that contact and sound

    Of boot hitting chunk and then chunk hitting ground.

    It makes you feel better, it makes your day brighter,

    It makes your Tercel about twenty pounds lighter!

    And boy, what a workout! We all could be hunks

    By starting each morning with kicking some chunks!

    So next time you spot one, no matter how awesome,


  6. January in Minnesota
    (pp. 6-6)

    Why do we live here?Why do we stay?

    Why don’t we leave from October to May?

    Surely there must be a logical reason

    We stand for this icy, interminable season.

    “We’re hardy!” say most folks.“We’re morons!” say some.

    The truth is we’re frozen—our brains have gone numb!

    So here we sit, shivering, ’til spring plays the hero—

    Dreaming of Fahrenheits higher than zero!...

  7. March Once More
    (pp. 7-7)

    Well, we’ve done it again!

    Every March we pretend

    That it’s spring and the winter is ended.

    We ignore that black mound

    Of old snow on the ground

    So our disbelief’s nicely suspended.

    Well, I think you’d better

    Keep on that nice sweater,

    This is MARCH, just in case you’ve forgotten.

    It’s not warm, for God’s sake,

    There’s still ice on the lake

    (And the swimming, quite frankly, is rotten).

    No you can’t say it’s spring

    ’Til the birds do their thing

    And the meadows and trees are in flower,

    And you put on short pants

    ’Cause you know there’s...

  8. Dayton’s Flower Show
    (pp. 8-8)

    I'm not one of those

    Who like flower shows.

    The sight of a mum

    Only makes a heart glum,

    And to view a petunia

    Can practically ruin ya.

    Heartbreakers, liars, deceivers—I know!

    They tell us it’s spring,

    But outside—two below!...

  9. Spring, Sort Of
    (pp. 9-9)

    I get depressed this time of year, when ugly things abound;

    The blackened, patchy piles of snow, the landscape dull and brown.

    There’s trash along the highway that the melted snow’s revealed,

    And if the sun’s inclined to shine that fact is well concealed.

    It’s too warm for a parka, but a sweater’s not enough;

    We’re stuck in Nature’s waiting room, and Nature can’t decide;

    Sometimes March is Dr. Jekyll, sometimes Mr. Hyde.

    But yesterday I think I saw a tiny tulip bud,

    Or else it was a crocus shoot that peeked out through the mud.

    And so for now...

  10. Oh, the Natural World
    (pp. 10-11)

    It’s summer now, and folks all say,

    “It’s gorgeous! Don’t stay in all day!

    Let’s roam the woods and traipse the fields

    And reap the bounty Nature yields!”

    Well fine, that’s great, go breathe some air,

    I’ll tell you bluntly, I can’t bear

    The biting, sucking, crawling things

    That gentle summer always brings.

    I mostly like what God hath wrought here,

    Except for all the bugs He brought here.

    And that’s reverse psychology

    ’Cause they seem awfully fond of me!

    When I go out on nature trips

    The insect world just smacks its lips.

    They know me well, I’m much...

  11. Late Summer Blues
    (pp. 12-12)

    When August arrives, life gets muggy and thick,

    Like Nature’s been conked on the head with a brick.

    The air isn’t moving, the sky is all hazy,

    My energy level drops well below lazy.

    Forget about exercise, workouts are rare;

    In August my favorite conditioning is air.

    I glisten with sweat, I wear very few clothes

    (Which has its advantages sometimes, God knows).

    School hasn’t started yet, Softball is through,

    There’s nowhere to go and there’s nothing to do.

    August is boring, August is hot,

    August is all the things April is not.

    If life were a ball game and...

  12. The Hay Fever Rag
    (pp. 13-14)

    I’ve got allergies, ain’t that grand?

    You do, too? So you understand.

    I cannot breathe or smell or talk,

    My head feels like it’s filled with caulk.

    I took some pills, I drank some soup,

    I rubbed on some strange herbal goop,

    I sipped hot teas, used nasal sprays,

    I inhaled steam for several days.

    Old stinky socks, ripe Gorgonzola,

    Nothing helped my blocked schnozzola.

    And guess what else? When I’m not well

    My attitude goes all to hell.

    Try speaking clearly—there’s a process;

    Is “doze” a nap or a proboscis?

    Forget fine food: it’s such a waste


  13. Written during the Time of Year Formerly Known as Spring Training
    (pp. 16-17)

    I tried to write a poem last week (a thing I often do);

    I wanted something rich and deep, but really funny, too.

    But when I called upon my muse for rhymes my fans might like,

    She calmly dropped a bombshell, saying, “Sorry, I’m on strike!”

    “On strike?” I said. “But you’re not real!You’re just a mere conceit!”

    “That may be so,” she sneered, “but even concepts have to eat!

    We muses thrive on praise, but you’ve been stingy with the credit;

    And I’m the true creative force, while you just mostly edit!

    It takes a pro to find a...

  14. Opening Day Jive
    (pp. 18-19)

    Here we go! Baseball! Time to play again!

    Sittin’ in the boxes with a scorecard and a pen, brought

    Along a couple buddies, got ourselves a couple beers, say now

    I ain’t missed an Openin’ Day in almost forty years! Yeah, I

    Seen ’em when they won it all, I seen ’em when they stank, and I

    Seen ’em when the pitching staff went right into the tank! Got a

    Rookie here from Portland who they say can do it all, got a

    Old guy from the Dodgers who can still shellac the ball! I know

    Everybody’s number, I know...

  15. On Mother’s Day and the Fishing Opener Falling on the Same Day
    (pp. 20-20)

    If you woke up this chilly morn and thought, “Let’s fish!”—think twice.

    Both morally and physically, you’re probably on thin ice.

    I know that nothing rivals Opening Day for angling drama,

    But keep in mind it’s Mother’s Day and what you owe your mama.

    Who gave you your first rod and taught you how to calmly wait?

    Who showed you all the subtleties of how to use live bait?

    She bought you your first tackle box, she made you practice trolling,

    Yes, she was right there on the dock when other moms went bowling!

    She loved you, man, and...

  16. Move It
    (pp. 21-21)

    You say the baseball strike’s a drag;

    The hockey strike is, too.

    The sports page of your daily rag

    Is now so thin it’s see-through.

    You say these slimy legal guys

    Have killed the world of sports,

    And all the losses, wins, and ties

    Now happen in the courts.

    You say we sports fans have it tough,

    This lack of games is gruesome.

    Well,I say, hey, get off your duff—

    Quit watching sports and do some!

    Let’s hit some balls, let’s ride a bike,

    Let’s dribble, swim, or run

    (Don’t tell me I should take a hike;

    I’d that a...

  17. Heartbreak
    (pp. 22-22)

    You ask me why I’m feeling bad, you ask me why I’m blue,

    You ask me if I’m eating right

    Or if I have the flu.

    You ask me if my inner child is unfulfilled and cries.

    You ask me if I need to get

    Some outdoor exercise.

    You ask me why I can’t enjoy this autumn so resplendent.

    You ask me quietly if I’ve met

    Some leggy flight attendant.

    You ask me if I’m in despair about some global crisis,

    The disappearing forests

    Or the rise in oil prices.

    I know you want to help but you can never...

  18. Kirby Puckett’s Retirement
    (pp. 23-23)

    I think it was Freud who said nothing’s enjoyed

    To its fullest until it’s recalled;

    And so let’s reminisce about all that we’ll miss

    And just why this guy kept us enthralled.

    His first claim to fame was his musical name,

    A children’s song, rhythmic and fun.

    And that kidlike physique, so compact and unique,

    That could do things that couldn’t be done.

    We all saw his fire, his guts and desire,

    But the thing we sensed watching him play

    Was this overgrown kid really loved what he did;

    He had fun at his job every day.

    So remember his...

  19. Some Thoughts on the End of Fishing Season
    (pp. 24-26)

    The fishing season’s come and gone, and anglers, please take note:

    We poets scoff at those who spent their weekends in a boat!

    There’s not a special art to catching walleye, trout, or herring,

    But poetry requires a ton of patience, skill, and daring!

    You have to rise at 3 A.M., a dark and quiet time;

    No noise or lights to scare away your fragile sense of rhyme.

    You need a special pen, of course (I like the five-inch Parker);

    A Bic is fine for sonnets, but haiku needs Magic Marker.

    You then go to your secret spot, your favorite...

  20. Watching Schoolchildren See a Live Turkey for the First Time
    (pp. 28-28)

    I’m a turkey, nice to meet ya,

    Step in closer, I won’t eat ya.

    That’s just a common courtesy

    I wish that you’d extend to me.

    Right now you think I’m such a sweetie,

    But you’re the eater, I’m the eatee.

    Don’t say we’re friends, it’s too depressing.

    Friends don’t serve their friends with dressing.

    Thanksgiving dinner’s all I am

    So no more questions. Beat it. Scram!...

  21. A Midwestern Thanksgiving
    (pp. 29-29)

    A question to set the mind reeling:

    Whydowe find Jello appealing?

    It’s tacky and cheap, a shivering heap

    Of sugary substance congealing.

    But the answer, without being rude,

    Is that Jello can alter our mood.

    For in theory and practice,

    The plain simple fact is

    We all like to play with our food.

    O how it quivers, O how it quakes,

    O what a huge heaping portion it makes!

    Whether red, green, or yellow, with carrots or not,

    The folks here at home sure do eat it a lot.

    And why do we like it so much? Here’s...

  22. Post-Thanksgiving Musings
    (pp. 30-31)

    This Thursday past no doubt you ate

    The splendors heaped upon your plate:

    The steaming soups, the candied yams,

    The basted birds and honeyed hams,

    The crème brûlée and rhubarb pies

    Brought forks to lips and tears to eyes.

    And yet, amidst this wondrous fare,

    These answers to a gourmand’s prayer,

    The lowly squash is hands-down winner

    Of “Things I Love the Best for Dinner.”

    It isn’t trendy, hip, or posh

    To sing the praises of the squash;

    I know it’s not a glamorous viand

    Like chocolate mousse or Chateaubriand.

    But it’s a shame this tasty gourd

    Is much maligned...

  23. On Noticing That No One Ever Gets the Lyrics Right to “Good King Wenceslas” or Most Other Christmas Carols
    (pp. 32-32)

    Forgot the lyrics? No big thing:

    The words aren’t that appealing.

    It’s not importantwhatyou sing

    As long as it’s with feeling.

    Good King Wenceslas just grins;

    He could not be prouder.

    He forgives our lyric sins

    If we all sing louder.

    So let ’er rip and have no fear,

    Just let that song go ringing,

    Because the point this time of year

    Is just to be there singing!...

  24. ’Tis the Season
    (pp. 33-33)

    That time of year has come again,

    And much as it appalls,

    We usually sane and cautious men

    Will head out to the malls.

    It’s time to join the shopping race;

    Bring wallet, spouse, and kiddies,

    And hope we find a parking space

    That’s still within the cities.

    The store’s a madhouse, wild as hell,

    It’s shopping in flagrante!

    The people writhe and moan and yell

    Like something out of Dante.

    “Do you have this in red or teal?”

    “Is that an extra-large?”

    “Do you think this has sex appeal?”

    “Will that be cash or charge?”

    The whole thing’s gotten...

  25. A Yuletide Prayer
    (pp. 34-34)

    Preserve us, Lord, this holiday

    From clods who would a glass uphold,

    And at the table drone away

    While all that lovely food gets cold.

    O grant us, Lord, a gracious host

    Who keeps his blessing short and sweet,

    And knows full well a perfect toast

    Should finish with the words, “Let’s eat!”...

  26. A New Year’s Judgment
    (pp. 35-35)

    For those of us much disinclined to revel New Year’s Eve,

    We marvel at what you call fun; one almost can’t believe.

    No doubt you found some large soirees in places unaesthetic,

    Packed tight with boring, common folk—how dreary, how pathetic.

    You gorged yourself on fattening foods, cold shrimp and tortellini,

    And probably clogged an artery with all that clam linguine.

    You laughed so loud and drank so much you could have had a


    And goodness knows, the way you danced you probably threw your

    back out.

    And then at midnight, I’ve no doubt, all heedless of the...

  27. Considering New Year’s Resolutions—Again
    (pp. 36-36)

    Nobody knows where the old year goes,

    But the new one is here once again.

    And on January first, in a pious outburst,

    We resolve to be much better men.

    We all swear to lose weight and to not sleep late

    And in general renounce all our vices.

    But it’s kind of like shopping without ever once stopping

    Just to take a quick peek at the prices.

    Because virtue ain’t cheap, it’ll cost you some sleep

    As you sneak down the stairs for a smoke;

    Or you have a piece of pie and you think with a sigh,

    “That’s the...

  28. Hopes for the New Year
    (pp. 37-37)

    The old year is finished, the new one’s begun,

    And since it’s still early you might find it fun

    To dream up a list, either long or petite,

    Of what you might do this year, who you might meet.

    You might learn to dance (you’ll be glad you did later).

    You might meet Madonna and casually date her.

    You might write a screenplay, a lighthearted romance,

    Produce it for peanuts and clean up at Sundance!

    You might get discovered and move to L.A.,

    Call everyone “Babe” and drink decaf au lait.

    You then might become Cindy Crawford’s new beau


  29. Once More into the New Year’s Breach
    (pp. 38-40)

    At last I’ve made some resolutions,

    New Year’s Day—inspired solutions

    To the many faults that haunt me,

    Like these rolls of fat that taunt me,

    Like my hair, my breath, my skin,

    The general mess my life is in.

    So no more sleeping late for me,

    And no more pizza, no more Brie!

    I’ll rise at 6 (6:10 at most)

    And start each day with dry wheat toast.

    I’ll exercise a thousand ways:

    Lift weights, do sit-ups, jog for days.

    I’ll shun dessert and nightly feast

    On tofu, kelp, and brewer’s yeast.

    And if I keep it up each...

  30. On Announcing for the First Time in Your Life That You Won’t Be at Your Parents’ House on Christmas Morning
    (pp. 43-43)

    It’s hard sometimes to be autonomous

    And keep things with your mom bonhomonous....

  31. To All the Brand New Husbands
    (pp. 44-45)

    Romance was born the day we met, the fates brought us together;

    We drank champagne, wrote odes to love, and had some fun with leathe

    But I noticed once we married and I moved into her place

    That our thundering, swirling passions thundered at a slower pace.

    So I said, “You’ve seemed so angry since the day that I moved in,

    And I hardly ever see you flash that wicked little grin.

    I’d do anything to fan the flame, refill our loving cup.”

    She said, “Honest?” I said, “Yes.” She said, “All right, then listen up:

    Light a candle in...

  32. Wisdom
    (pp. 46-46)

    Here’s a fact that married folks should know about sex:

    Too much, you have a baby; not enough, you have an ex....

  33. The Week after Labor Day
    (pp. 47-47)

    A special sound is in the air,

    A lovely noise, unique and rare;

    That gentle roar we’ve all been hearing

    Is fifty million parents cheering.

    It’s clear what’s made them so lighthearted:

    The simple fact that school has started!

    They’ve hugged and kissed the little tykes

    And sent them off on bus and bikes

    To learn and grow and do their best

    And give their frazzled folks a rest.

    They love their kids, make no mistake,

    But boy, it’s nice to have a break.

    Five days each week, from 8 ’til 3,

    It’s kind of great to be kid-free.


  34. My Beautiful New Niece
    (pp. 48-48)

    Zosha Kenya Winegar Schultz.

    A lovely child, she has no faults,

    Except her long and complex name

    For which her parents are to blame....

  35. [Illustrations]
    (pp. None)
  36. More Wisdom
    (pp. 49-49)

    Women will always forgive men their faults

    If (a) they do housework and (b) learn to waltz....

  37. My Wife’s Birthday
    (pp. 50-52)

    If love is like water, then I’m not an ocean;

    It’s lonely and empty and always in motion.

    Nor am I a glacier, all frozen and hard,

    That takes fifty years to move forward a yard.

    I can’t be a dewdrop—too youthful and callow.

    I could be a puddle, but then I’d be shallow.

    I might be the rainfall on soft summer nights,

    But that wouldn’t work ’cause I’m too scared of heights.

    It isn’t romantic, but I like to think

    Of myself as the leak in an old kitchen sink.

    It’s often annoying and gets on your nerves,...

  38. On Seeing the World’s Largest Book, According to Guinness
    (pp. 55-55)

    Holy smokes! Is that abook?

    Move over there, let’s take a look:

    It weights a ton, the print is small,

    There ain’t no pictures here at all!

    It figures that those nerds at Guinness

    Would love a book no one can finish.

    You well-read types may think it's groovy,

    But I’ll just wait and see the movie....

  39. Thoughts on the Opening of the Frederick R. Weisman Art Museum
    (pp. 56-57)

    Have you seen the Weisman?

    It’s really a nice one!

    If buildings were football, I’d give it the Heisman!

    It glistens and curves,

    It bulges and swerves,

    It gets on a lot of the Lutherans’ nerves.

    They gasp and say, “Golly!

    An architect’s folly!

    Mies van der Rohe teamed up with Salvador Dali!

    It’s ugly! It’s cold!

    Too daring! Too bold!

    It’s bad for our youngsters! It frightens our old!”

    They’ll holler and whine

    About the design

    But once some time passes they’ll like it just fine.

    For despite shows of piety

    And outward sobriety

    Even Norwegians enjoy some variety....

  40. Wisconsin Names the Polka as State Dance and Twenty-Second State Symbol
    (pp. 58-58)

    Sound the horns and strike the tabors!

    Hail to thee, O eastern neighbors!

    Your great Wisconsin legislature

    Has changed the course of man and nature.

    With sinews stiff, they’ve risked a chance

    And named the polka your state dance!

    They dealt first with minutiae,

    Like highways, schools, and bills to pay,

    Then passed this bill so bold and fateful,

    Making tuba players grateful!

    Let Rio keep its carioca,

    Madison’s endorsed the polka!

    Those legislators, deft and nimble,

    Have nabbed another fine state symbol.

    They have a bird, they have a beer,

    They have a sandwich (grilled cheese, we hear).


  41. Ethnic Cuisine
    (pp. 59-59)

    Your average Malaysian

    Needs little persuasion

    To eat spicy dishes;

    He finds them delicious.

    An East Indian child

    Finds curry quite mild

    And consumes fiery chutney

    To the point we’d call gluttony.

    At hot food a Thai

    Probably won’t bat an eye,

    And of course the Chinese

    Eat whatever they please.

    But I’m Minnesotan,

    Where spice is verboten;

    And that’s why hot chilies

    Just give me the willies....

  42. A Dissenting Voice
    (pp. 60-62)

    I hate the State Fair! That’s shocking, I know,

    But, really—whywouldany nice person go?

    Though the size of the crowd in itself is dumbfounding

    The size of the folksinthe crowd is astounding!

    The grounds are a mess and the buildings are crude,

    But the worst thing about it, of course, is the food.

    Those donuts and cheese curds are fragrant illusions:

    They’re really deep-fried coronary occlusions!

    Just listen: you’ll hear, as you fill up your gut,

    The sound of your arteries all snapping shut!

    The Grandstand is tacky, the Midway’s a rip-off

    (Tattoo-covered vendors are always a...

  43. Sweeps Month
    (pp. 64-64)

    If you should choose to watch the news

    Remember it’s sweeps month—watch out for the ooze!

    The month when each station can cause a sensation

    And good taste is sent on a four-week vacation.

    Just turn on the set; I’m willing to bet

    The sizzling reporting will make your teeth sweat!







    It makes me feel...

  44. On the Publication of a Report That Says Most People Don’t Wash Their Hands after Going to the Bathroom
    (pp. 65-65)

    So this researcher’s shocked that our hygiene is bad;

    Big deal—here’s whatreallyappalls:

    The thought of some guy with a pencil and pad

    Taking notes while he hides in the stalls!

    I think we’re just lazy, we’re not really slobs,

    And I sure hope this guy understands

    That most of our mothers did pretty good jobs

    And taught us: Don’t pee on your hands!...

  45. “NWA Seeks Casino in the Sky”—Star TribuneHeadline
    (pp. 66-66)

    High-altitude gaming! An airborne casino!

    It’s kind of redundant from everythingweknow.

    If you like taking chances whenever you ramble

    Then flying Northwest by itself is a gamble.

    Will the plane land on time? Will it be the right town?

    Will they go out of business before we touch down?

    And how could a video jackpot compare

    To bouncing white-knuckled through turbulent air?

    They say it’s to help us get through the long haul,

    But it’s just one more way to get back at us all.

    It’s subtle, but nasty, the ultimate hurt:

    Along with your luggage, you can now...

  46. The Buzz around the Mall
    (pp. 67-67)

    The Megamall’s announced a test:

    They’re using wasps to battle pests!

    The bugs are bad, but hey, no prob,

    These macho wasps can do the job.

    Well, maybe normal wasps could,but

    These guys have had their stingers cut!

    Now I’m no shrink but there’s no doubt

    A gelded wasp has lost his clout.

    He’s born to sting and if he can’t

    He’s just a wimpy flying ant!

    He’ll hang his head in deep embarrassment,

    Quite uninclined toward insect harassment.

    The price of Hugedale’s pest-free dream

    Is loss of waspy self-esteem.

    The bugs know this—you think they’d care


  47. “Pelicans and Power Lines Don’t Mix, Granite Falls Officials Find”—Star Tribune Headline
    (pp. 68-68)

    The pelican’ a funny bird,

    The body slim, the beak absurd;

    He glides and soars to heights divine

    And then takes out a power line.

    And this has happened more than once,

    So is this bird a total dunce?

    Well, I think not; it seems quite clear

    He’s sent a message we should hear.

    By knocking out your TV show

    He’s saying, “Off your butt! Let’s go!

    Don’t sit inside! Don’t watch TV.

    You’ll learn a lot more watching me!”

    With almost genius-like invention

    He’s telling us to pay attention.

    So if we stay indoors all summer,

    He may be...

  48. Earth Mom
    (pp. 69-69)

    It’s Earth Day again, our yearly reminder

    To treat this old world a bit gentler and kinder.

    You’ve heard this before, but the earth’s like your mother;

    She just hopes you’re happy, she won’t be a bother,

    She knows you’re so busy with big deals that thrill you,

    But really, a call now and then—would it kill you?

    As long as she isn’t completely forgotten

    She’ll gladly forgive you for treating her rotten.

    So keep this in mind (as truths go, there’s none greater):

    Ignore your mom now, and you’ll be sorry later!...

  49. Election Day
    (pp. 70-72)

    I’m not going to write about this year’s election;

    No pithy bon mots, no witty dissection

    Of ugly campaigning and badly done ads

    Depicting opponents as liars and cads.

    No sharp, funny send-ups of power and greed;

    To put it quite bluntly, there’s simply no need.

    The daggers of satire can stay on the shelves

    Since all of the candidates skewered themselves.

    No bright, clever rhyme scheme could be half as funny

    As watching politicos try to raise money

    Or strive to convince us they’re honest and good

    While bearing a striking resemblance to wood.

    Their mudslinging battles get downright...

  50. The Last Word
    (pp. 73-74)

    I’ve learned a lot about myself through all these many years;

    I’ve had my share of laughter and I've had my share of crying.

    And of the many things that bring me untold joy in life,

    Like having friends I treasure and a warm and loving spouse,

    I find that writing poetry remains my heart’s delight;

    Had I the time I’d just write verses morning, noon, and evening.

    So many things inspire me, like a lovely night in June;

    The soft, romantic midnight light that shines down from the sky.

    Or maybe it’s the kitten I saw playing with a...

  51. Back Matter
    (pp. 75-75)