Rhymed Humor

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Do but consider this small dust,

Here running in the glass,

       By atoms moved;

Could you believe that this

The body was

       Of one that loved?

And in the Mistress flame playing like a fly

       Turned to cinders by her eye?

       Yes; and in death, as life, unblest,

           To have expressed,

Even ashes of lovers find no rest.




THE HOURGLASS--Sainuel Taylor Coleridge


0  think fair maid! these sands

In slender threads adown the gless,

Were once the body of some swain,

Who loved to well and lov'd in vain,

And let one soft sigh heave thy breast

That not in life alone unblest

E'en lovers' ashes find no rest.



THE HOURGLASS: Advice of Thrice Married Grandmother


Oh think, fair daughter of those sands that pass

in slender threads down this old hourglass

measuring my many times in passion I have lain;

for though the pleasures long have passed, it surely was my gain.

Though these once firm and tender breasts

now lay. . . flat upon my chest

And as for Church, pure crap, Ill die unblessed

wisdoms shown to me which way is best;

the thoughts of past joys, of all those men,

memories I savor 'til the end

See how the sand of time have overthrown

and in my fate, you see your own;

make haste and love, there is no greater joy;

before, my dear, the sands of time your flesh destroys.

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