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Never ask of money spent Where the spender thinks it went. Nobody was ever meant To remember or invent What he did with every cent.

He has dust in his eyes and a fan for a wing, A leg akimbo with which he can sing, And a mouthful of dye stuff instead of a sting.

On glossy wires artistically bent, He draws himself up to his full extent. His natty wings with self-assurance perk. His stinging quarters menacingly work. Poor egotist, he has no way of knowing But he’s as good as anybody going.

Let chaos storm! Let cloud shapes swarm! I wait for form.

Will the blight end the chestnut?The farmers rather guess not.It keeps smouldering at the rootsAnd sending up new shootsTill another parasiteShall come to end the blight.

Let me be the one To do what is done.

This biplane is the shape of human flight. Its name might better be First Motor Kite. Its makers’ name—Time cannot get that wrong, For it was writ in heaven doubly Wright.

The old dog barks backward without getting up. I can remember when he was a pup.

I never dared be radical when young For fear it would make me conservative when old.

The witch that came (the withered hag) To wash the steps with pail and rag, Was once the beauty Abishag, The picture pride of Hollywood. Too many fall from great and good For you to doubt the likelihood. Die early…